


The Sound Of Music

by TheFault_InOurThought, Triddlegrl



Series: Sound Of Music [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jewish Tony Stark, Kid Fic, M/M, Musician Bucky Barnes, Musician Steve Rogers, Nazis everywhere and not the singing kind, Other, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve, Scenes of violence, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Survivor Guilt, Tony Stark Feels, Torture, Wartime Romance, child endangerment, period fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:54:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 402,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFault_InOurThought/pseuds/TheFault_InOurThought, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triddlegrl/pseuds/Triddlegrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABC invites you to the 60th anniversary special of the beloved family classic “The Sound of Music”. <s>A tuneful, heartwarming story, based on the real life story of the Rogers Family singers, one of the best known concert groups of the era.</s> Actually, it's the story of Antony Stark, an Italian monk whose best shot at escaping Reich controlled Austria is to become the tutor of the seven children of Captain Stefen Rogers. The hills are not alive with music, they are swarming with Nazis and Tony's not the only one keeping secrets or desperately trying to save what he loves. What he loves has gotten really REALY confused, but maybe he's not alone in that either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone. Meg here (Triddlegrl). I am so excited to be working on this story with FaultInOurThought! It's our first in the Avengers fandom so we'll ask for your grace as we find our footing. We've loved these characters for years so they've been treated with love. 
> 
> Please note that we've changed some characters names along with their ages to suit our purposes, but rest assured everyone should remain recognizable. The name changes are largely just variants in spelling to reflect a different region. You'll find a blend of comic and movie verse characterizations as well as characters, and please also note that we have intentionally taken liberty with some historical detail (Thor was not the crown prince of Norway in 1940. Who knew?). Our goal is to take the three things we love (those being history, The Sound Of Music, and The Avengers) and fuse them in a way that is both poignant and honoring. We hope we succeed with that. That said, this is not going to be as whimsical as you might remember from the movie (because Nazis) and Steve and Tony are in for a slow burn (because Nazis and period appropriate homophobia) but rest assured, it will burn.
> 
> Without further ado....

_Salzburg, Austria. June 1938_

The morning had started out beautifully; crisp mountain air, predawn light gradually bleeding into impossibly blue sky and the scent of fresh morning dew permuting the air. Antony Eduard Stark was familiar with slipping out of bed long before the sun rose and making his way through shadowed streets in search of one adventure or another. God knew, his poor governesses had tried to keep him under lock and key, but Antony’s mind had always been quicker than most children- most adults even- and even at his smallest he had never found a lock he couldn’t pick or a key he couldn’t fashion in lieu of picks.

The trouble with genius was that it required exercise (a sentiment wholly unappreciated at the monastery he’d had the misfortune of calling home for the last two decades) and the trouble with metal was how blasted heavy it was- especially when one had to cart over fifty pounds of it in a rickety wheelbarrow.

Tony had set out early enough in the day that he should have concluded his business at the mill and returned to the monastery between first mass and breakfast. Word had come from Jakob Friets a fortnight before of a broken generator at the mill that was soon to be replaced and might find its way into Antony’s possession for the right amount of coin. And since, as a monk, Tony was supposed to have neither personal funds nor personal time to go about procuring odd materials for his even odder inventions, it was safe to say that today’s exchange having taken much longer than expected, was going to result in way more trouble than he’d bargained for.

Oh well, Tony huffed as he continued to push his hard won spoils across the cobbled street with considerable strain on his muscles. There was nothing to do about it now. Father Niklas would be furious; but Tony couldn’t remember a time when Niklas hadn’t been furious with him for one thing or another. Why change things now?

***

“Father Superior, a moment please?”

Niklas Farkas had come to dread those words, spoken in that specific tone, and not without good reason.  They always meant trouble, spelled with a capital T-O-N-Y, and frankly what with Austria under Nazi control and a war approaching he had much bigger things to deal with than another one of Antony Stark’s screw ups.

This time it was Brother Tiberius, the monastery treasurer, who was hurrying towards where Nik had been standing with brother Filip, a furious step to his gate. Filip Coulson’s visage remained smooth and unruffled despite the dark cloud the younger monk was undoubtedly bringing with him, but that was Fil for you- religiously unruffled.

“Yes?” Nik inquired dryly, not really wishing to know what Tony had done this time but suspecting that it likely involved the monastery’s treasury. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

“Forgive me Father, Sub-prior,” Tiberius nodded shortly to he and Filip in turn before rounding on Nik with every last drop of his pent up frustration and demanding, “something must be done about Antony! I know that you’re fond of him Father. Perhaps you find his antics amusing, but he isn’t a child anymore and I insist he be held accountable this time. The man is a menace!”

Yes, Niklas thought to himself that was definitely pressure building behind his eyes- sure signs of his imminent death.

“What is it he is supposed to have done?” Fil asked with the patience of a saint and he and Nik waited as Tiberius puffed up like a posturing bird and launched into another tirade.

“Someone has emptied the alms box-”

“I should hope. I ordered it done this morning,” Fil murmured and Tiberius fell short, clearly taken aback by Fil's cool demeanor.

“Yes, Sub-prior of course. Brother Aldrich was supposed to see to it, but Brother Antony insisted that you had instructed that he take over, only he has been nowhere to be found all day.” Nik closed his eyes, imagining himself far away from the monastery and upon the waves of the deep blue sea surrounding his home land, and not having to deal with a problem like Antony Stark. He'd loved the ocean as a boy, and even now as a man it was still his preferred place of refuge. Antony would have had something fresh to say about that no doubt, he did so like to liken Nik to a pirate.

“We've promised our aide to several suffering families. How are we to see to them if this is allowed to continue?” Tiberius demanded full of rancor and Nik held up a hand, commanding the young monk to silence.

“We can't know for sure that Antony has stolen-” Tiberius opened his mouth to interject but fell wisely silent under the Father Superior's stern glare.

“He is unconventional Brother Tiberius. It wouldn't be the first time he decided to do things his own way,” Fil reminded them all, as if Nik needed reminding.

“But... Father Superior I must-”

“When Antony returns I will get to the bottom of it Tiberius,” Nik ended the man's protest before it could begin, but before he could dismiss the younger monk there was a great clatter as something heavy and metallic fell against the cobble stones and a voice that sounded a lot like Antony's hissed  a violent curse.

All three of the monks had turned at the sound to find Antony paused in the cloister beside an overladen wheelbarrow that looked in danger of spilling more of its contents on the next push. It was clear that Antony had already seen them, and that he had been attempting to sneak by unnoticed (no doubt down to his workshop where he liked to disappear for hours) and as soon as Nik's eyes met his the man rolled them heavenward, turning his back on the three staring at him from across the garth and bending to collect the spilled scraps and bits of metal that were now littering the cloister.

Tiberius turned to Fil with a smug smirk.

“I trust his punishment will be as severe as his crime warrants?”

Fil promised that Antony would receive an appropriately harsh assignment for his trespasses and Tiberius seemed to accept that, sweeping away in a dignified and well-practiced swirl of robes and Nik rolled his eyes heavenward.

“This can’t go on,” Fil murmured under his breath once the younger monk was gone. “Germany is tightening its grip on Austria every day. He takes far too many risks.”

“That boy is a pain in my ass.”

Any other monk might have died of shock, hearing an Abbot use such language but Fil didn’t so much as bat an eyelash, except for the tiny upward twitch of the corner of one lip.

“It’s been over twenty years Nik and his world is only getting smaller.” There was a note of finality in Fil’s tone that made Nik want to heave another sigh, that or retreat to his rooms for a long bath and order no one to bother him. He knew that Antony had never belonged there, and he didn’t need Coulson to remind him that his temporary solution had about run its course. The abbey was no longer safe for Tony Stark. The damnable trouble with that was few places in the world were.

*~*

_Niklas, you have been a friend to me these many years. In times of war there are few who can be trusted even amongst friends. I am afraid for my son Antony. In many respects he is still a child and while he continues to keep ill company, I fear he may never develop the constitution it will take to see his legacy unharmed through the coming years. He will need guidance as well as direction if he is to make of himself the man I hope he can be. I can only hope that in God he will find these things._

_*~*_

By the time that Brother Bruce came to relieve him Tony had been scrubbing the floors of the infirmary for so long that the light from the candles had become little more than stubs. Although it was dim they cast a stubborn glow over the stone walls and mostly empty beds like the most resolute of soldiers. Looking at them reminded Tony of too many things he didn’t want to think about (too many bodies burnt through like cheap wax and just as carelessly tossed away). Tony had seen more than a few soldiers in his time, having lived through the Great War.

He’d been seventeen when war had broken out and had watched from the shipyard as boys, many much younger than him, had marched to their deaths with smiles on their faces and brimming with confidence. They’d been children, no way of knowing what was ahead of them, no way of knowing that the ships they were boarding would carry them far away from the shores of their home and would not bring them back.

And still, Tony had wanted to be with them. He had been young once too and despite all his protests to the contrary he had occasionally cared about something other than himself. But Tony’s father had forbidden it and he had practically kept Tony under lock and key that year- finally sending him away altogether before his eighteenth birthday could arrive and Tony would be old enough to legally enlist.

Tony had never forgiven him for that. Not the preventing him from throwing away his life on a forgotten battlefield thing. Tony would never forgive Hughard for taking away his home.

He heaved a sigh, nodding gratefully at Bruce as he sat up from where he knelt on the floor and unceremoniously dropped the rag he’d been using to clean into the bucket beside his knee. His black robes were damp and his hands were wrinkled. He gave his hands a token glance, noting that some of his old cuts had opened and were fairly stinging from the soap. If he was at all mindful of his health he ought to have Bruce take a look at it, but it was late and the quiet reclusive monk who ran the infirmary looked more than ready to find his bed. Although it was undoubtedly Tony’s preferred punishment poor Bruce was always having to suffer whenever someone found a reason to be mad at him (which truthfully, was probably way less often than he deserved).

It took only a few moments to clean himself up and dispose of the bucket, far longer to dissuade Bruce from mothering him. Thankfully it was late enough that even Bruce only seemed to want to put in the token effort when dealing with Tony’s issues. He sought his bed after only a few protests but not before warning Tony to go straight to bed, as there were only a few hours until wake up call; but they both knew Tony was far more likely to sneak down to his workshop to salvage what was left of the day than he ever was to attempt sleep.

Only, that night he didn’t seem in the mood for it. Maybe it was the hours he’d already spent stooped till his back ached or the soap seeped into old scrapes and burns reminding him of his own fragility but that night Tony did not make the turn that would have taken him to the workshop. It was as silent as a tomb in the monastery after hours, the silence only emphasizing the cold of the stone walls and the emptiness of each passage. Quite without thought Tony found himself where Brother Hanes and the rest of the monks designated for choir work practiced their hymns, but it didn’t surprise him that on a night like this he’d be driven to chasing ghosts.

The choir room was dark, the only light source a single window spilling moonlight over the worn top of the old Bechstien piano that Brother Hanes had plucked away on every Saturday morning for the last thirty years. Tony didn’t bother lighting the oil lamps before claiming a seat on the bench. Without any dedicated thought or purpose he set his fingers to the keys-he didn’t need to see well for this, the memory of the right notes and the right placement coming to him like second nature- and began to play.

For a time he just let the notes flow from him, allowing the soothing sound of music to carry him out of the dark and back to places far from the cold and dark of St. Péter’s Abbey. He was a boy again at home in Pola, standing on the shore with the crystal sea stretching out before him, the sticky sweet marmalade from a hastily gobbled _burriche_ still clinging to his fingertips; and easy, like drifting into a dream, he was in the parlor at their villa, the leathery palms of Jacob Yinsen’s hands cupping his as they guided to the correct keys, his mother humming quietly as she worked, the words occasionally bursting past her lips in her beautiful soprano. Tony sang them now from memory, eyes drifting slowly shut as he tried to cling to the memory of her voice, the smell of her perfume, the vibrations in her chest when she sang lullabies in the dark.

“Va Penserio? I never took you for a patriot Antony.”

Tony jolted, hitting his first sour note since he’d begun, surprised by the voice and Nik’s sudden appearance. The Father Superior’s approach had been silent and he was now all but towering over Tony in his black robes, like a crow waiting over some poor beast drawing its last breaths.

“Niky,” Tony picked up playing again, refusing to allow Nik’s presence to disturb his peace. Niklas did not react to the pet name, not even to give Tony one of his famous glowers. He didn’t know what it meant that he was almost put out by that.

“What are you doing skulking about in the dark?” He asked, picking up tempo. “Something spy related?”

That got him his glower and Tony smirked.

Anyone who thought that Niklas Farkas was just an ordinary monk concerned with charity and prayers obviously had never met the fellow.  He was a Hungarian born on the wrong side of African heritage and no wealth to make up for either his ethnic or economical short comings. He had made his way from the farmers fields to the battlefields as a young man and from there, inexplicably into the church.  It had never been a friendly world for people of his sort and it had been downright hostile since the end of the Great War, yet there he stood in the center of one of the oldest churches in the once great Austro-Hungarian Empire still playing the game of kings from the shadows. Antony had heard his father once tell a colleague that Nik had the ear of God and the perfume of monarchs lingering in his pews.

Churches could be great friends to exiled kings and other men grasping for political power. Their walls kept public eyes out and whispers in.

Hughard Stark had known exactly what he was doing when he’d sent his son and heir to this particular monastery, and to whom he’d been sending him to.

“I came to see if maybe you had learned anything from washing up blood and sick all day,” Nik answered him with a droll expression. Tony could tell he thought it was doubtful, and never let it be said that Tony didn’t live up to people’s low expectations.

“You need better heating,” Tony quipped ignoring the sharpening glare from Nik’s one good eye. “I don’t understand your aversion to progress. There’s this wonderful new thing called electricity, hell even steam power. If you’d just allow me to, I could have this place-“

“Daniel Bohmer!” Nik interjected with a snap and Tony tensed. “Kristoff Hochberg, Rachel Schnieder-”

“Am I supposed to know these people?” he sneered in defense and Nik slapped the piano top with a firm hand. Tony jumped to his feet, his fingers dragging over the keys in a discordant jangle of notes.

“Jacob Yinsen,” Nik finished and Tony could feel himself pale.

“You’re a bastard,” he hissed. Nik didn’t nod or anything, though he likely knew it was true. Only a bastard would use Yinsen like this-just to shut him up.

“They’re all men and women I’ve known Tony. They’re all Jews, and they’ve all been arrested and killed, the same way you will be if you don’t get your head on straight.”

“If I’m not a good boy you mean?” Tony shot back, accusing. He was breathing heavily, his breaths sounding ragged to his own ears but he couldn’t let this go. Couldn’t let Niklas Farkas get away with thinking that Tony didn’t know the truth. “It was not my choice to come here! I never wanted to get caught up in your war games Farkas! That was you and that was Hughard! You made Yinsen a promise you couldn’t keep and you sent him to the lion’s den!”

“Jacob volunteered.”

“He was a scholar not a spy! You never should have let him!”

“There was no one else Stark!”

“Do you always lie this poorly? Obi could have-”

“Yes he could have! Did you ever stop to wonder just why he didn’t? Why your father sent you here, to the ‘lion’s den’ as you called it?”

Tony drew up short. There was something about the calm way that Niklas was looking at him, about the sadness clinging to him that he could not seem to bury. It made something heavy sink to the bottom of Tony’s stomach.

“Hughard was a wealthy man with national connections and plenty of clout. He could have sent you anywhere with anyone and he sent you to Salzburg, with a Jewish professor for protection. You never wondered why?”

Tony swallowed thickly but couldn’t immediately answer. He had wondered - especially after Yinsen - it was just that, he’d always assumed being sent away to a monastery was his father’s way of punishing him. For not being the kind of man at seventeen that Hughard had always thought he should be. For not being ready or willing to see Stark Industries through war time; but mostly as punishment for feeling more Italian than German and rejecting good German blood (for rejecting Hughard). Like many of the German people who had settled in Pola, Hughard had thought himself superior to everyone else. Tony’s father used to say the only thing worse than a lazy Croat was a lazy _Katzenfresser_ , and it had never seemed to bother him too much that his wife Maria was in hearing distance.

He had never understood why his father had married his mother. He did not beat her like some husbands but he was far from a kind man. Hughard’s old friend and business partner Obadiah Stanislav had never understood it either. Though he was always courteous enough to Maria he’d also always been very forthcoming with the fact that he was against the marriage.

_“Your mother is a fine woman, Tony, a beautiful woman… but her people are not like us. Not all of them are the same, you understand? Her kind, well they are fundamentally different. Weaker… Germans are built to last and Stark Industries is a solid German company. Your father shouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that reputation.”_

Tony had always known that there were things about his situation at the abbey that Niklas wasn’t sharing with him; he was clever after all. More than clever. Some would go so far as to call him a genius. He had built his first boat when he was four years old. Which just meant that it had taken him entirely too long to figure out that Obie had never just been talking about his mother’s Italian roots but her _Jewish_ ones, and that no matter what kind of love or lust had driven Hughard Stark into the arms of an Italian Jewess, Antony Eduard Stark was in no way allowed to be anything but a proper German boy.

Too bad for him that was the one thing he couldn’t be. The blood doesn’t lie.

Sure, he looked enough like Hughard that no one was going to spot him immediately as a Jew; but Tony had never even tried to deny his Italian heritage. Who wanted to be Aryan anyway?

It had never added up. Send him to Austria and imprison him in a monastery fine, but why sneak him out of Pola with Yinsen of all people?

“He didn’t trust Obie.” The conclusion when it came to him, seemed shamefully obvious. Knowing it now threw everything else he’d thought he’d known in shadow.

The night his parents had been killed had started like any other. He’d gone with his parents to the shipyard where Hughard was to give a special presentation to a bunch of high ranking military officials. Stark ships were the best ships in the world and Hughard had wanted to assure the Austrians and the Germans that their navies would be the best outfitted and best gunned in the world. It was an unpopular move with the workers. Italy had sided with the allies and too many of the men and women who called Pola home remembered the days when Pola had been part of it and did not think themselves Austrian.

The people, eager to see their dreams of a return to the ‘homeland’ become a reality were no longer content to keep their heads down or their hands idle. Riots had broken out before then and people had died, but that was Hughard, always so convinced of his own invincibility. Always so forgetful of the workers who filled his factories.

There had been a crowd of protesters waiting at the harbor that day. The family car hadn’t even made it into the shipyard. Shouts had rang out as the mob had pressed in close, pounding on the windows and hood of their motor car with fury, and then shots. In a split second Tony’s entire world had upended. There had been a spray of blood, and his mother had screamed so loudly next to his ear that he’d thought it might rupture.

He remembered the terrible fright when the door had been wrenched open and hands had grabbed him pulling him into the seething mob. He didn’t know how long he’d kicked and screamed before he’d recognized the man pulling him through the mass of bodies was his tutor, Jacob Yinsen. He just remembered the painful racing of his heart and straining to hear his mother over the roar of the crowd, the sick twist in his gut when he realized he could no longer hear her.

He had later learned that Hughard had intended for Yinsen to take Tony away during the demonstration. He had showed Tony the letter his father had written to an old friend of his at a monastery in Austria, practically begging for him to take in his wayward son and straighten him out. Yinsen had in turn begged Tony to agree to make the journey, to condemn himself for the unforeseeable future to live behind abbey walls if not for his own sake but then for his mother’s memory. Tony had agreed with his ears still ringing with his mother’s last scream.

“He sent you here to keep you alive,” Nik answered, pulling Tony out of his dark memories and back to the present. Only the present felt no less dark to Tony. Especially when Nik added, “Yinsen got you here, to keep you alive.”

“And they killed him,” Tony remembered bitterly. “He lost his life for mine.”

Nik, the bastard, didn’t even bother to disagree with him. He just nodded gravely and asked Tony why, knowing that, he seemed so determined to throw it away.

The thing about that was... Tony had no idea.

***

Despite getting to bed so late it had been incredibly hard for Tony to get to sleep that night. Damn Farkas; the one eyed bastard knew exactly how to get at a man’s underbelly. Tony had gone to his workshop after all, because there was no way he was going straight to bed like a good boy; not after Nik had cut him open like that. The workshop was really an old stable, gutted and refashioned to suit Tony’s needs and still reeking of horses and hay under the newer layers of iron and oil. It was only a little galling that the workshop itself had been a gift from Nik, after all there wasn’t much need for engineering quarters at the abbey, but it had been a hard adjustment for Tony to come from the bustling shipyards of the world’s biggest port cities to the deafeningly silent and still confines of the abbey. He supposed for Nik, finding him something to occupy his mind had been the lesser of two evils.

Tony had started taking apart the generator he’d gotten from the mill and at some point he must have finally passed out down there because when he was rudely awoken by the sharp sting of stones peppering his skull, it was to find that he’d missed breakfast as well as morning prayers.

The perpetrator of his rude awakening was one Clinton Barton, a novice at the abbey. Perched gingerly in the rafters above Tony’s head, the odd child was throwing pebbles at his head and peering down at Tony with a mischievous smirk like one of those exotic creatures you read about in adventure magazines.  Grumpily, Tony began the business of waking up and stretching his protesting back – yes he was getting much too old for nights spent stooped over floors or workbenches – glaring at Barton all the while.

“How did you get in here?” Tony demanded to know as Barton swung his way down from the rafters, kicking up a cloud of dust as he landed. Tony had designed the locks on the door himself so that he could lock it from within as well as without. So he was a little peeved that the Abbot’s favorite minion had somehow managed to find his way inside.

“I climbed,” the boy answered in his accented German, as if that explained everything. At Tony’s dubious expression he grinned up towards the old hayloft and said, “There’s a window up there. You sleep up there so I know you know it.”

Tony did know it. The grimy little window wasn’t big enough for a grown man to slip through even if they were to break it so Tony had never bothered to reinforce it.  By the time Nik had pinched his little underling from a traveling french circus it hadn’t even occurred to Tony to think about it. An oversight he’d have to correct.

“What does he want?” Tony asked. He didn’t feel like mincing words. His stomach was grumbling horribly and he could tell by the light filtering in from above that breakfast was long over. Given that he’d missed supper as a part of his punishment and he was likely to go without _again_ as punishment for missing morning prayers… well it was a good thing Tony wasn’t in the habit of eating regular meals.

Clinton mostly ignored Tony in favor of climbing on top of his work table to poke and prod at the generator that Tony had spent the night disassembling for parts in his engine – currently the world’s fastest motor powered boat required four engines to reach a max speed of two hundred kilometers per hour, his _single_ engine was going to do twice that in half the time, if he could just get the damn _materials_ – and only responded when Tony slapped his hands away from his soldering iron.

“He wants to see you in his office. Give that here.”

“Excuse me but it’s mine. Not for sticky fingered little boys with deep pockets.”

“I wouldn’t pinch _that_ ” the little french boy huffed, not bothering to dispute the issue of sticky fingers. “Isn’t worth nothin.”

“This?” Tony effected a deeply wounded tone and Clint’s grin widened. “This is a revolutionary piece of industrial history. Where would I get another? Ersa? I made this when I was nineteen. Sachs was still figuring out how to turn the lights on.”

“So?” Clinton drawled, swinging his legs over the table ledge and kicking them back and forth.

“So, Clinton,” Tony dragged out the full name he knew the boy hated. “It’s mine. Remember our rules ‘we don’t touch Tony’s things or he’ll find horribly creative ways to engineer our death’, remember that one?”

Smirking Clinton swung himself off of the table and dashed for the door as if he expected Tony to make good on his word and chase after him with something sharp. He was up the ladder and leaping off the edge of the loft before Tony could really blink, and even though the boy caught and swung himself back into the rafters with the effortless grace of a circus performer Tony couldn’t help but cringe.

“T'as pas de coquilles!”  Clinton laughed down at him, expression so unbearably smug as he reached for the bag of pebbles tied at his waist that Tony wasn’t sure if he was tempted to throw something at the little monkey or laugh.

And since the boy insisted on shepherding him to the Abbot’s office by pelting him with small stones, Tony considered it a show of his own maturity that he only just barely decided against the former.

It was because he was running from the stones, looking back over his shoulder in fear that Barton was going to pop out of some corner again with a fresh arsenal of stones, that he didn’t see the man coming down the corridor until he’d all but run him over.

More accurately it was like slamming into a brick wall and Tony was no physicist but there was only one way for this to end: heels over ass on the floor.

Or it would have, if the wall hadn’t proved to have an amazing set of reflexes on top of things. A set of firm hands grabbed him about the waist and caught him by the arm before he could tumble inelegantly to the ground and that was how Antony Eduard Stark found himself staring up into a wall with eyes.  

“Are you alright?” the man asked, only he asked it in a way that implied he’d already come to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with Tony’s head.

And it was a man, not a wall, a certainly tall and well-formed man, but just a man all the same. A man with smart dress and a wicked mouth. A mouth that was dipping deeper into an annoyed frown the longer Tony stood their gaping at him like a witless fool.

Tony jerked away from the stranger, returning his frown with a peeved expression of his own and continued on his way without so much as a word of remorse or thanks. It was rude of him. But if Tony were honest, he’d found something really unsettling about the gentlemen.

Reaching the Abbott’s door he paused only momentarily to turn and watch the stranger’s retreat down the hall. His stride was long, his steps efficient and brisk in a way that screamed military. His clothing was expensive but not showy, his jacket framing a set of broad shoulders that had no doubt seen their share of burdens and still he walked proudly like a king in court. Tony remembered the flash of sea blue eyes and the golden glint of dark blond hair peaking from beneath the hat the man had worn and he shivered.

An officer. Whether Austrian or German it didn’t matter these days. He’d just brushed with death.

~*~*~*~

“You couldn’t have warned me you were meeting with the Nazis this morning?” Tony shut the door of Nik’s office with a snap. He was still trembling from the encounter in the corridor but he tried desperately not to show it. Nik’s office was dark despite the time of day. Tony suspected Nik preferred it that way, like a bat or some other nocturnal creature. How else would he look mysterious and intimidating behind his oak desk shrouded in dark robes if not for the compliment of harsh shadows?

“Sit down, Antony.”

“Don’t _Antony_ me,” Tony snapped in reply, but he took a seat anyway. “You give me that whole song and dance about the danger of leaving the abbey and then you invite a Nazi for tea?”

“Captain _Rogers_ came to me, Tony,” Nik replied, drawing out the man’s name with a poignant look and Tony halted mid breath.

“Captain Rogers?” That was _not_ a squeak in his voice. “ _The_ Captain Rogers?”

Austria was a small country but fiercely proud of its treasures and contributions to society. Captain Rogers, hero of the Great War, was reputably both. Even Tony, cloistered away behind the walls of the abbey had heard of him.

Niklas nodded. His smugness was in his wording and not so much his tone as he replied, “Not a Nazi. Not yet anyhow.”

The foreboding thought sank any feelings of wonder or excitement Tony had previously felt at the presence of a national icon at the abbey. Captain Rogers for all of his nobility was still a soldier. He was sworn to serve king and country, even if said country had gone to the devil.

“What do you know about Captain Rogers?” Niklas asked. He was the picture of nonchalance as he leaned back in his chair, seemingly content to wait days, months, or however long it took for Tony to reply, but Tony knew he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t have a hidden motive behind it. Nik’s hidden motives had hidden motives. He could feel himself start to sweat but he was a Stark. Acquiring a poker face was practically a prerequisite.

“He’s a soldier,” Tony supplied pointedly and Nik immediately parried with,

“What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing you couldn’t read in the paper. He’s Austria’s favorite son. Had my dad lived long enough he’d probably have hung his picture above the fireplace like every other upstanding citizen. Is this going somewhere Farkas?”

It was a long pregnant moment before Niklas chose to reply.

“Captain Rogers is a powerful man Antony. He has ties to every office in this country, be it military or political. Not to mention he has friends abroad. You called him ‘the favored son’ and I suppose that’s true. He’s a symbol of Austrian strength and nationalism.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Tony quipped. Not to mention right up Nik’s ally. He was a monarchist through and through: a king’s man. Of course he’d want the people’s man on his side.

“There’s nothing more dangerous. The Germans know that. Now that Austria has become a part of the Reichland it is only a matter of time before they insist the Captain take up an active post. Only this time it will be under a Nazi flag.”

“You fight for one emperor you fight for another.” Tony shrugged. He wouldn’t let on that Nik’s predictions unsettled him in any way. Who was Captain Rogers to him, accept another German? Austrian or German it was all the same since Anschluss. And Rogers whether he was a saint or a sinner was one man in a world gone to the dogs and he’d undoubtedly do what all the rest were doing.  Click his heels and fall into line like a good German boy; meanwhile Tony would bend his knees and say his prayers like a good German monk and if the S.S. ever came knocking he’d wave the expensively purchased papers that declared his greatest fault was a hopelessly Italian mother, but not a drop of Jewish blood.

Good men and women, the truly innocent ones like Yinsen, and the Grandparents he’d never really been allowed to know, they would be arrested or killed. Because that was the state of the world.

“Your father intended you to return home after the first war, but in case of the worst he left provisions for your upkeep and continued safety here.” Nik said, and Tony was quick to try and stave off whatever as yet unspoken ‘but’ was attached to the end of that statement.

“And I am well kept and very safe.”

But Niklas wasn’t impressed by his dismissive tone and didn’t let him get far out of his seat before he went on the attack.

“These walls can protect you from a lot of things but they can’t protect you from this!”

It was the return of that deep resigned sadness in Nik’s voice that frightened him the most. Tony turned to glare at him.

“Why not? Are the Nazis in the habit of arresting monks now?”

“Yes,” Nik’s reply was so final it stopped Tony cold. The Abbott pressed on a moment later. “The Reich is determined to stomp out resistance. And they’ve been successful with the use of spies infiltrating the resistance groups. Many men and women of the faith who have felt it their Christian duty to lend their aid to the resistance have found their churches raided without warning. No one is out of the Reich’s reach Stark.”

Not even you went unsaid. Then again it didn’t need to be.

“What do you want me to do?”  Tony asked, because even if his mind was already buzzing with a million and one escape plans, without doubt Nik had an agenda of his own he wanted to push. It was worth it to hear him out before he formed his own plans largely because Tony wasn’t sure he had a chance in hell of pulling any of his own ideas off.

Patrols were everywhere. Traveling even with the right paperwork was dangerous. It was all ‘who are you and where are you going’ and the Stark name was too well known not to garner attention. Maybe he could feel a bit of sympathy for Rogers after all. He wasn’t the only symbol the Nazis would be interested in using for their own purposes.

When Niklas finally settled on how to answer he plucked a crisp envelope off of his desk and stood, extending it toward Tony. Tony stared at it suspiciously.

“A week ago I received a letter from Captain Rogers,” Nik explained, looking unimpressed with Tony’s hesitance. “He is looking for a tutor and companion for his children and wondered if the abbey had any educated Brothers who would be up to the task.”

Tony blinked, a horrible suspicion dawning on him.

“You want me, to be some sort of… governess?!” He asked incredulously and Nik scowled at him. It was official. Niklas Farkas had lost whatever good sense he was born with. He wanted to place this man’s poor children in _Tony’s_ care? He was as irresponsible as they came. Just ask every last monk there! Never on time for anything, irreverent as they came. Flibbertigibbet wasn’t the worst thing he’d heard one of his brother monks calling him under the breath. Tony was _deviant_ and known to play fast and loose with his vows of celibacy at that.  He wasn’t fit company for polite society let alone small impressionable children.

“A tutor Stark. You will give the children lessons. They have other staff to see to their upkeep.”

“Yes but you said companion. That implies I have to keep their company.”

“Yes Stark as their tutor – ”

“Governess,”

“ – and a paid _companion,_ you might have to keep their company. It’s a simple enough job.”

“Except for the part where it involves children. I know nothing about them.”

“You do well with Clinton. He’s a child.”

“Clinton is an imp, not a child.”

“Stark!” Niklas exclaimed, exasperated but Tony refused to let up. This plan – no this idea of his – was simply preposterous.

“Please be frank with me Niky, are you trying to arrange my death? Because it sounds to me as if you would like me to walk into the house of a Nazi officer and ask to play with his children, hoping of course that he never realizes that the embodiment of everything our beloved Führer so detests is standing right in front of him!”

“I’m asking you to _think_ Stark!” Nik demanded in harsh reply. “Think about your future. It will be very short, I guarantee, unless you step very carefully. You need to stay out of sight and slip out of the country the first opportunity you get or the reality is you will eventually be caught. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Tony swallowed back whatever it was he was going to say. He was angry true enough but he knew that most of his resistance was based on fear. Whatever else St. Péter’s was, the abbey had been his only home for more than half his life. And he wasn’t blind or stupid. He was well aware of the danger to him out there in the world. It was perhaps the only real reason he had put up with the whole charade. In here the monks might despair of him and grumble beneath their breath but at least he had a guaranteed place. Out there he didn’t mean anything to anybody except dirty blood. He was something to be wiped away and they’d do it gladly if they knew.

“I’ll write Obi,” Tony decided. “I own controlling stock in the company. He can’t refuse to help me.” Whatever it was that had caused Hughard to mistrust his old friend Tony would likely never know and regardless he was right about Obi being in no position to say no. They were on the brink of war and Stark Industries was a German company. Obadiah had always been the most concerned with the company reputation.

“That’s a double edged sword, Tony. Are you sure you know which way it’s pointed?”

Nik, damn his hide, was of course correct. If Obadiah had played a hand in his father’s death as Nik seemed to be implying then the only thing that had saved Tony was his escape to St. Péter’s. As far as he knew Obadiah had never made any attempt to get at him there but now that Nik had raised the suspicions in his mind Tony could not forget how he and Yinsen been chased by armed officers all the way to Salzberg. When they had finally caught up with them Yinsen had told Tony to run for the Abbey, and not to turn back no matter what he heard. But Tony had never been good at doing what he was told and he had seen and heard plenty from his hiding place in the woods. They had called Jacob a filthy Jew and beat him bloody, all the while demanding to know where he was hiding Tony.

He could still hear them, cruel and mocking as they screamed at him in German. _“Where is the boy? Jewsish dog! Where is he?”_

Tony had run for the abbey and had practically screamed the walls down before Nik had agreed to fetch the police. He’d been told by a cold eyed altogether too bored officer that Yinsen had been arrested and taken to prison for abducting him and would likely face execution for the crime. Tony had insisted there had been no abduction and Nik had provided proof that Tony’s father had intended him to be committed to the monastery in the event of his death and an investigation had been launched; but the whole thing had been muddled from the beginning what with Hughard arranging it all in secret and Obadiah frantically searching for him after the riot that had taken the lives of Tony’s parents. By the time Obi had managed to get everything cleared up it had been too late.

Yinsen had taken his own life in prison. Or so they had said. Tony had never really believed it. He’d seen the way those policemen had beaten him. It would surprise him if Yinsen had even made it to prison still breathing.

He’d never know. He’d not been allowed to see him. The officer in charge of the investigation had no time to listen to any of Tony’s pleas or demands, and only disdain for the spoiled little Italian boy screaming at him in a garbled mix of German and Italian, who had not even the sense to know when he’d been rescued and how to show proper gratitude.

Had it really all just been a tragic misunderstanding? Or had Obadiah had a hand in it all: the riot, Yinsen’s death? Maybe if Tony had revealed himself to those men like he’d wanted to, maybe they would have just killed him and pinned his murder on the _‘jewish dog’_ who’d abducted him. One thing was for sure, once behind the monastery walls and under Niklas Farkas’ watchful eye Obadiah would have had little choice but to let him be. Besides it wasn’t as if Tony could have much say over the company as a monk, controlling interest or not. In that way Obadiah would have won – out of sight, out of mind – and if that was the case, perhaps it was best to stay that way.

For the time being. Because now that the suspicion was there, Tony knew that he would never be able to let it lie. If Obi really had betrayed them Tony would make him pay, and then he’d take back his company; but to do any of that he had to live. If he couldn’t go to Obadiah then Tony was left with very few options.

“I still fail to understand how going to live with this Nazi is going to be less risky,” Tony grumbled.

“He’s not a Nazi and I never said there wouldn’t be risk”. Nik gestured for him to take the envelope again and Tony sighed snatching it from the Abbot's hand, impatiently extracting the letter within and flipping it open. While he took note of the Captains tight but no less messy for it scrawl – it spoke of common breeding, of a little boy whose days had likely been spent in farm and field rather than under the guide of tutors –  he admittedly skimmed through most of it. The last few lines caught his eye, and he immediately saw the bait on the hook for what it was.

_I hope to find someone who gets on well with the children, for while the Führer’s plans for our beloved country are no doubt grand, I do sincerely doubt it will be a place for children. I’ve plans to send them abroad and while I cannot guarantee my own comfort, I should like to know always that they are well and in good hands._

It was not uncommon for wealthier families to send their children out of war zones. Completely legal and above the board. Children had tutors and governesses with them all the time, no reason to suspect foul play. A tutor, coming from the captain’s own household? They’d practically write his ticket for him. If he could play his cards right, keep his head down as Nik was always insisting, well then he could sneak out of the country long before the S.S. even knew there was something to look for.

“So what is it you need from me?” Tony asked, because he knew Nik and he was smart enough to realize that the previous night’s speech had been prepping him for this exact moment. Niklas didn’t disappoint.

“I need you to report the captain’s movements to me. Any intelligence drops into your lap I want to know.”

“Of course you want me to spy on him,” Tony said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “What happened to keeping my head down?”

“Keep it down. But if you happen to look up and see anything at all noteworthy I want to know about it, almost before the ink dries. Are we clear on that Stark?”

As glass, but if Niklas had the notion in his head at all that Tony was going to make a _good_ spy he had another think coming. Tony’s only real concern was keeping his genetic secrets _secret_ , and getting on the first boat out of Austria he could. There was just one more thing he needed to know.

“How many children does Captain Rogers have?”

Niklas grinned at him like the cat in the crème and cheerfully replied, “Seven.”

“Seven children!” Tony gaped. “His poor wife. What desperate state must she be in? No one thought to stage a rescue?”

“The late Mrs. Rogers is deceased –”

“No doubt it is a well-deserved rest. Seven children!” Tony scoffed, scandalized and Nik prattled over him as if he hadn’t spoken.

“– and was very much in love with her husband while she lived, so I would refrain from making such comments in the Captain’s hearing. In fact, if I were you Stark I’d focus on not saying much to the Captain at all.”

Tony scoffed at him but didn’t say anything further. If he was going to learn to keep his mouth shut he supposed there was no time to practice like the present.

 

~*~*~

_“Certain anthropologists would fain teach us that all races are equally gifted; we point to history and answer: that is a lie! The races of mankind are markedly different in the nature and also in the extent of their gifts, and the Germanic races belong to the most highly gifted group, the group usually termed Aryan... Physically and mentally the Aryans are pre-eminent among all peoples; for that reason they are by right ... the lords of the world. Do we not see the homo syriacus develop just as well and as happily in the position of slave as of master? Do the Chinese not show us another example of the same nature?”_

_-p.542 The Foundations of The Nineteenth Century._

_~*~_

It took two weeks for Nik to make the arrangements. Admittedly it would not have taken as long if Tony hadn’t refused to read the materials Nik provided him with to study up on the new Reich approved school curriculum. It had all been nonsense about the supposed superiority of the Germans: blah blah blah proud history of might and splendor and so on and so forth.

That, he might have been able to stomach on its own truth be told (Germany was hardly the first country to fabricate some far nobler history for itself than had actually occurred) but he just couldn’t bring himself to read all that tripe about the inferior blood of Jews (and anyone else who just happened to not be blond haired and blue eyed) and the inherent degeneration of character that was sure to be the death of good moral Germans everywhere as a result of their mixing. It was enough to make his blood boil; and seeing as how setting himself aflame seemed rather counterproductive to the goal of surviving these mad times he found himself in he’d settled for burning the documents.

Nik had given him a talking to, reminding him of the dwindling window of time he had to escape the country and his limited options to do so. Tony had kept up the front of refusal just on principal but they both knew he wasn’t about to waltz back into the world and betray himself on an issue of pride. He had an eidetic memory which would have made learning the drivel by heart easy enough never mind a genius level IQ. Whether Tony wanted it there or not the Nazi doctrine was up there to stay. He couldn’t help but feel very bitter about that. The weeks it took to get things settled with Captain Roger’s household and make sure Tony would pass any government inspection were primarily filled with hours in his workshop because as far as Tony was concerned the only way to drive out the utter _poison_ he was being forced to ingest was with heat and metal.

His engine was likely never to be finished. There would be little chance for engineering in the Captain’s home and all the more suspicion about his origins if he were to display such a remarkable talent for it. It would sit here a thing interrupted like so many lives since Anschluss. For the time being it appeared this was one more thing the Nazi’s would take from him as their due.

It was too easy to feel a boy again, standing in his father’s nobler shadow, desperately trying to live up to an impossible ideal even as he was reminded that he did not deserve second chances any more than he had deserved the first one; that the day he had first drawn breath was a blight in the grand order of somebody elses perfect world. There was a singular comfort to be found in forging metal: in the reverberation of each strike through muscle and bone, in the singe of spark and flame against hair and skin. Proof that even the hardest of materials could be persuaded to reformation given the right minded hands. There in his workshop, Tony Stark’s hands had always been right and his mind sound, even if nothing else about him ever had been.

But it like everything else couldn’t last.

The morning of his departure from St. Péter’s Abbey Tony packed a small bag full of what meager possessions he owned, said goodbye to Bruce in the infirmary (the only man at the monastery who came even close to being called a friend) and went to his workshop to close it up in that order. He’d dismantled what inventions he’d stored there for fear of them getting into other hands and being reverse engineered. Tony’d had more than twenty long years at the abbey and no ships to occupy him so he had let his curiosity take him anywhere and everywhere that feasibly gotten materials would allow, including weaponry. He did not trust his work not to eventually fall into Nazi hands and he wasn’t sure he trusted it in Father Niklas’ hands either. He was far too fond of his little war games.

All that was left to do now was pick up his soldering iron bury it at the bottom of his bag and go.

Tony swallowed thickly finding the packing part easy and the picking up and going part much more difficult than he’d anticipated. His fingers tightened around the handle of his luggage but his feet stayed firmly planted in the middle of the workshop as if time would simply stop with him as long as he didn’t initiate further movement. He was frozen with indecision despite the fact that the decision had already been made. The time to go had come and past and he was more than capable of going out into the world and proving to it and himself that he had something to contribute. He would _revolutionize_ and _reform_ because it was what his hands and mind were good for. And if he couldn’t ignore the voice that whispered it was the _only_ thing he was good for, well… there was supposed to be a drink for everything.

“You sad?”

Tony was sad enough that he didn’t have the energy to jump a foot at Clinton’s unexpected voice at his back. He didn’t turn as the boy came to stand beside him, nor did he bother asking how he’d snuck up without Tony hearing him. Instead he just took a deep breath and heaved a sigh, feeling relief at the return of feeling in his arms and legs and the ability to inspire movement.

“Do me a favor?” Tony glanced down to watch a slight furrow crease the boy’s brow as he nodded warily before continuing. “Watch this place for me while I’m gone?”

Clinton looked surprised by the request but he nodded with a solemnness to his expression that Tony had rarely observed in him and he felt something in his chest region pinch. Right. Well that was enough of _that_. Clinton seemed to agree because a moment later he was jerking his head in the direction of the doorway and warning him he’d be late to catch the trolleybus and that the abbot had given him permission to stone him again if he didn’t get a move on.

Yet somehow it didn’t feel final even as the iron gates of St. Péter’s shut behind him with a clang and the startled flight of pigeons, or even as the driver of the trolleybus had barked at him for fifty reichspfennig rather than the half shilling he’d have paid not a month before (when Austria had still been Austria).  He had walked outside the abbey before of course but always with the benedictine robes to shield him and never with the same sense of urgency. The people of Salzburg were technically the same as they had been the night of his last jaunt through the city but now Tony viewed them with new eyes.

There were the good citizens scurrying about with their morning errands, blithely ignoring those poor souls who could be spotted wearing the yellow band that marked them as Jews thanks to the newly enforced _Nuremberg_ laws. There was a tension in the air only augmented by the still fresh appearance of Nazi flags and paraphernalia hanging from every ledge and window.

The soldiers were the worst, their feet drumming loudly as they marched boldly through the streets, proud as peacocks of their smart uniforms and flashy guns. And Tony walked among them not just a plain clothed monk on his way to assignment but a Jew, unmarked and falsely documented: a lamb hiding amongst the wolves. He put on a smile and a confident swagger because experience had taught him he had no better shield.

As Tony finally took his seat aboard the bus and watched the cobbled streets of Salzburg pass by his window he wondered when, if ever, the world would wake up from what felt like the longest of terrible dreams.

*~*~*

The iron bars of the front gate loomed above Tony as he stood outside the villa Captain Rogers and his family called home. A pigeon, sleek and thin, with head bobbing, landed on the heavy gate to pass judgment and ignored Tony's grunted attempts to get the damn thing open. The little rats had convened the moment Tony arrived, their little bodies poised upon the gate like gargoyles.

 

They glared at him, ominous as crows and Tony stood for a moment in defeat, battling a sudden and punishing desire to turn tail, morbidly aware of the life he was leaving behind (the safety). Tony gripped the cold iron bars in his hand and let his forehead fall against the gate. He found himself wondering again what it was for. The good of everyone.

That had always been a funny concept to him, especially when "everyone" had always excluded him and his people.

He could still go home, back to the monastery that was. Father Niklas would... do what exactly? Agree to hide him for another week or so until he too was thrown in prison with the rest of the Jews in- it didn’t bare thinking.

No, at best Tony would be pointed back the way he'd come. There were other options of course, but they too almost did not bare thinking about, at least not at the moment. Right now there was nowhere else to go, nowhere truly safe, and no better chance than this. Tony squared his shoulders, clenched his bags tighter and recommitted himself to prying open the stubborn gate.

Stark men were made of iron and he was the best built of them all. Still as Tony struggled and the gates finally sprang open with a groan and a horrible creek he couldn't help but think it an omen.

The villa gardens were in full bloom, poignantly back dropped by the stunning architecture of the house surrounded by the summer green of trees and the hazy blue of the distant mountains. Tony swallowed, reminded of the mountains surrounding St. Peter’s. He ducked his head, refusing to dwell. He was accustomed to the constant ache of it by now anyhow. Tony rubbed at his chest absently, took a deep breath and then another as he approached the front door and pressed the bell.

No turning back now.

And also no answer.

So much for pulling the bandage off quickly, he thought. He pressed the bell again, then again. Really? The service here was quite-

The door swung open and Tony stumbled back one arm wheeling to keep himself steady. A tall thin man peered at him from beside the door, scrunching his eyes and doing, what Tony thought, was a very good impression of a weasel. 

"Captain!" Tony barked before he could stop himself. Of course this man was not Captain Rogers - the man he’d nearly run over in his haste had been an Adonis and this fellow was far from it - and he had just made a fool of himself in front of, what? The butler? Wonderful. If he kept up to this standard he'd be fired by dinner.

The Weasel blinked, his frown deepening. Tony righted himself, planting a hand on the door frame for support and thrusting out his out his hand in greeting.

"Ah, Guten Tag, I'm the-"

"I’m sorry, we don't accommodate vagabonds,” the fellow rudely interrupted. “There's a monastery down the road, I'm sure they'll be happy to assist you. If they're still open." 

Tony made a grab for the closing door, forcing it, to the dismay of the butler, back open.

"As wonderful as the Ardagger Priory is they are in fact not serving food at this hour and even if they were, I'm not in need of it." Tony wrenched the door back, perhaps harder than he had meant too. Beetle eyes glared, the butler's face turning a very unbecoming shade of violet. 

"Stop this! This...insa-"

 "-And I wouldn't need it seeing as I have never needed it and am now employed by your master, so if you’ll kindly step aside!" Tony ground out, shoving the door aside with one last grunt. The butler paused at his words, hand curling on the door, crinkles of disgust forming at the corners of his eyes. For a moment Tony almost believed he would close the door and actually leave him outside in the dusk.

 "You're Herr Stark." It wasn't a question.

 "Broth- Antony Stark. At your service"

 "We've heard quite a bit about you.” 

 "All charming things I'm sure," Tony replied with a cocky grin.

 "Your father built a docking empire-"

"-Yes, and I chose the sanctuary of God. May I come in or is it custom to leave your guests waiting outside?"

The weasel twisted his lips, sighing, as if the whole endeavor had cost him. His eyes flickered over Tony's frame as one might flit fingers over a dirty rag and Tony might have felt intimidated, if the man where in any way intimidating. Even in his shabby suit and third hand shoes that looked even worse for wear next to the weasels three piece uniform, pressed slacks and pristinely slicked hair, Tony couldn’t help but feel bored by the man’s pretension. The man was impeccably dressed for a servant. People like him, in Tony's experience, we're so consumed with self that they failed to see what was right in front of them.

 "Yes." The butler drew out the word. “I’m Herr Hammer, and you see, I'm afraid I've just done the floors. You wouldn't mind terribly if I asked you to use the pantry door?"

The smile felt frigid on his face even to him but Tony saw no other option but to smile, nod and say yes. It was a tried and true method for avoiding early conflict. Where was the Captain? He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of this man. If he was lucky he wouldn't have to see much of Hammer’s pompous ass.

"If you wouldn't mind, Herr Stark," Hammer asked tilting his chin up as if the answer really didn't matter. Tony supposed it didn't. Not to Hammer at least. Tony slipped his hands into his pockets, curling his fingers into a fist and jerked his head in what passed for a nod.

Butler most grand tilted his chin, if possible even further up, a smile playing across his lips. "Yes.... if you go around back you can’t miss it." Herr Hammer turned and without giving Tony a chance to reply closed the door. Huffing Tony picked up his bag and made his way around the side of the house, hoping that the door to the kitchens would prove as easily findable as Hammer had indicated. He was undisturbed as he made his way, though he encountered a pair of gardeners who gave him wondering looks the longest and most assessing of which came from a dark skinned fellow in a mud stained pair of trousers.

Tony had almost stumbled over a stone on the path at the unexpected sight of another black man outside of the abbey. Niklas was not the only man of African descent he had encountered in his life - he’d known another boy years ago, an Afro-Hungarian like Nik whom Hughard in a rare moment of compassion had offered lodging to in exchange for household labor - but they had never been popular, and these days they were about as welcome as Jews, gypsies, tramps and thieves had ever been. He did not know what it meant that a man like Captain Rogers had such a fellow in his employ. Perhaps the fellow had been employed there for years and the captain was unaware of the ever growing liability he had tilling his soil beds. Tony hoped for the gardener’s sake that the captain didn’t figure it out any time soon.

Tony felt the man’s eyes on his as he made his way to the open door where Herr Hammer now stood in wait. Though it would undoubtedly be looked down upon by any good loyal citizen of Austria he acknowledged the gardener with a small nod as he passed. The gardener’s eyebrows arched in something close to surprise and Tony couldn’t blame him. The only people who went out of their way to be friendly to the sort of people the Reich had classified as ‘sub-human’ were the sort with no sense of self preservation. His sort apparently.

Indeed, Herr Hammer’s mouth was twisted up in an expression of intense disdain by the time that Tony reached him, leaving him with no doubt of the man’s feelings on the subject. Hammer turned wordlessly with a sharp click of heels and led Tony inside. Tony had grown up in a grand house so he was not afraid of coming off like an uncultured simpleton, on the contrary he had an appetite for the finer things in life that had gone largely unsatisfied behind the abbey walls.

That was the only explanation he had for why he felt as small as he did faced by the size and splendor of the villa. He came to a complete halt in the fare, caught off guard by the sheer grandness of it all. There were two grand staircases coming down from the second floor landing that spilled out into the opening of the grand entrance like two arms open in embrace.

Richly decorated in muted gold trimmings and rich brown wood, the room belonged in a painting, a sentiment only encouraged by the enticing rays of light filtering through the large windows.

Well, Tony thought as he stood soaking it all in, at the very least he wouldn't be uncomfortable.

"If you'll wait here the Captain will be with you shortly," the Weasel simpered. Hammer turned his back and headed towards a set of doors to the left the heels of his shiny shoes clicking as he walked.

Tony saluted his retreating back thinking that if he saw that man in a month it would be too soon.

Herr Hammer quickly left his thoughts as he went back to examining his surroundings, his eyes coming to rest on the entrance way. The grand door was a prime example of craftsmanship, made of dark polished wood with intricately carved designs. He could well imagine the sort of entrance one could make coming down those stairs to awaiting guests. He would place money the late Mrs. Rogers had loved every second of it.

‘ _What must the rest of the house be like?_ ’ Tony wondered as he slowly turned about the room. Close to the window, on a Bonheur du jour, stood a display of silver framed photographs, blue cotton runner protecting the dark wood from the metal frames. It took him a moment to identify the accompanying objects as medals and then he was blown away by the sheer number of them. Good lord this man was decorated. The captain no matter the boldness of his stature would look ridiculous with all of them on.

Tony touched one of the frames, gently running his finger over the finish. How many battles had the captain fought? Had he been honored for all of them? He must have. He wasn’t that old and yet there were so many of them. There were ten that he could count, gold and silver pelted stars all just as pristine as the butler Rogers employed to run his house.

Fascinated Tony turned to the pictures. Most of them where formal photos, depicting the different divisions Captain Rogers had served in. Tony peered closer looking for Rogers among them. He’d heard so many stories about the man since the Great War - about how he’d joined the army a sickly youth and grown into the exploits and stature of a modern Hercules - that he was halfway expecting his younger self to be all of three feet tall. While it was true that the young soldier near the far right of the lineup was indeed small he was not as small as legend would have you believe.

Still, Tony could understand the public’s propensity to propel man into myth. Eighteen, nearly eighty pounds soaking wet, and so small you could step on him the skinny recruit that no officer in less desperate times would have handed a gun let alone stamped for approval, had saved the lives of his battalion and that of his commanding officer Oberst Philips. A David facing off against the Goliath of the Italian forces; proof of the superiority and strength of good German blood.

Or so they said. Tony did not know what to make of Rogers but he was getting the inkling that the captain whatever his political affiliations wasn’t the sort to do the expected. The young man in the photo was everything the stories said he was except for eighteen. Tony didn’t know how anyone could miss it. The serious thin faced _little_ boy in oversized army dregs could not have been over the age of fourteen, regardless of what he’d told the recruiters when he’d enlisted. Illness aside if he had looked like a child, Tony had no doubt it was because he had been one. The thought filled him with a sadness, for the nameless boys who had filled the ranks of Austria’s army with no less passion or fervor, whose lives had been expended in war bitterly lost, for boys too young to comprehend the gift of their childhood.

 _‘You would have been such a boy, if not for Hughard’_ he thought, one of the first he’d had about his father in a long time that came anywhere close to charitable.

A small wry smile tilted Tony’s lips as he regarded the boy in the photo with his too earnest expression and spindly limbs gaining to grow. And grow they had. Rather nicely, if one had to speak objectively.

Discarding the thought to the growing pile reserved for ‘irrelevant day dreams’ Tony picked up the photo, flipped the frame over to read the inscription: **Alpenkorps 1915, Oberst Carsten Philips**.

He let out a slightly hysterical giggle. Captain Rogers had been a mountain trooper, part of the troops who’d filtered in through the hills to use the Italians as target practice. Irony was a cruel mistress. Despite the fact that he’d been picking off his mother’s people at the time, a small part of Tony couldn’t help but be impressed that Rogers had survived at all let alone performed feats as daring as the ones that had earned him those metals. The winters were unforgiving in the mountains. Tony had been tucked away in the monastery by then, hidden away and forgotten while his countrymen had bled into the snow.  

He set the photo down with distaste, reprimanding himself for dwelling on a history he couldn’t change.

Another photo caught his eye. That of a woman he could only assume was the late Mrs. Rogers. She’d been a beauty that much was for sure. With her wide dark mouth, sharp eyes and dark waves of hair she could have passed for any silver screen siren. She reminded him a bit of his own mother. Alive, even in a picture.

Tony felt the familiar pang of old grief and shoved it too away. He wondered vaguely if Mrs. Rogers had had Italian in her blood and almost as soon as the thought came he dismissed it. Mrs. Rogers was a pure Austrian beauty, decidedly not Italian and certainly not a Jew, nothing like his mother. Salzburg’s national treasure would have had to have a proper Austrian on his arm.

 _Not the fame you thought you’d have was it sweetheart?_ The thought when it came was nowhere close to charitable.

Tony turned away from the desk and turned back to the rest of the room. The longer he surveyed it the more he noticed the troubling sterility of it. As beautiful as it was it was stale, too picturesque to be used for anything but pictures. Too clean, Tony thought, for children. There were no scuff marks to show a single child lived there, let alone seven of them.

With nothing more to discover within the room Tony’s eyes turned to the side doors and hallways that led to god only knew where. He paused as one of the doors caught his eye. It was slightly ajar, pale yellow wallpaper just visible, teasing with sights as yet undiscovered. Never let it be said that Tony wasn’t a precocious being by nature, as that was more than enough of an invitation for the man to find himself quietly pushing the door of the room open.

This room like the last was in perfect order, clean and preserved. Tony's fingers itched to take it all apart and see where the pieces fell. He stepped inside, careful to keep his steps light. The room - a music room, he thought - had far less of the ornate grandness of the entry and the differences didn’t stop there. This room seemed like a home. An untouched home but a home none the less.

His eyes fell on the mandolin rested in the corner next to the sofa. Tony's fingers itched to touch it. A few more steps in and his eyes caught the paintings lining the walls. Landscapes mostly, Tony particularly liked a cluster of three small landscapes just above the resting mandolin that featured the harbor at different times in the day.

It was an entire room full to the brim with art. Tony’s heart thudded, the closest he’d felt to feeling at home since he’d arrived. This would be useful. As Tony wandered further inside he wondered absently who the musician in the family was. He supposed with seven children, at least one of them had to play, even if, judging from the dust floating in the air, it was years ago. Even in this room, meant for company, everything was untouched, nearly abandoned feeling.

 Except for the grand piano. He stopped in his tracks when he saw it.

ABösendorfers. Cherry wood that was nearly black it was so dark. He'd never seen one up close, constrained to watching the gleaming black wood from afar in festival halls and dimly lit concert arenas (Tony had been in attendance for charity work of course, though such expensive charities had only received Nik’s stamp of approval few and far between). He slid his hands over the heavy keys surprised when they came away clean. What he wouldn't give to play a Grand Bösendorfers: clean lines, the tone alone was superior to anything Tony had ever laid his hands on.

He should wait, he thought even as he slid onto the bench, fingers twitching with anticipation. He should wait until he had permission, or at the very least until after he was introduced to the family. Still, he found himself sliding his palm over the lid, found his fingers continually brushing the pale keys that begged to sing for him.

It wouldn’t hurt just to see, right? He pressed, the key releasing so pure a sound he shivered with delight.

“You tease,” he murmured with a delighted smile, pressing another and then another.

It was like a dream, the music coaxed from the belly of the piano thrumming through his fingertips and traveling up his arms. He slowly eased into a few scales and then with the embarrassing hesitation of a bride groom he began to play. The music wrapping around him and drowning out the residue of dark thoughts and fear that seemed to hover about him of late. He knew the song by heart, could have played it in his sleep.

His eyes wandered over the windows as he played, over the paintings, never really landing on anything, lost to the music.

_Oh, mio Captain, what else do you have hidden away?_

He paused for a moment, eyes catching on one painting in particular. The painting was of a trader ship in port, and it was the hull of said ship that held his interest. Yes. Yes, that was a Stark ship alright. The black and bold design of it was unmistakably Hughard’s craftsmanship. She was being held in port, sailors in still motion on her deck and docks, her sails raised catching the wind but unable to move. The artist had depicted her moments away from disaster. Tony could practically hear the groaning of the wood, the panicked shouts and lap of water clawing at her stern. For all that it was a quiet painting there was an underscore of painful aggression. Of chaos barely contained.

He was wondering at it as the door was thrown back on its hinges with a bang. Tony was off the bench before he'd finished his thoughts, bumping his hip in his haste to put the piano between himself and his unseen attacker.

His attacker didn't move, in fact his attacker might as well have been made of marble. Tony blinked and coughed out a breath, trying to quiet his racing heartbeat as he and Captain Rogers stared at each other.

"Captain," Tony croaked into the silence.

He’d changed since Tony had seen him last. The man Tony had nearly run over had been just that, a man. Standing there a dangerous silhouette in the doorway he looked and felt something entirely other. The sun's low setting light played shadows across his face, obscuring half of it even as it light up his eyes like sun on ice. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest Tony would have thought him a statue. Every trace of warmth drained out of him.   

Speaking of barely contained aggression, the Captain turned on his heel and held open the door, eyes boring into Tony with silent command. Tony resisted the urge to scuttle from the room like a cockroach and cocked his head ever so slightly. Despite the air of tightly coiled fury emanating from the captain it was broad daylight. He was not going to die. No, not here. And even if he was, he refused to die toe heeling to anyone least of all this man, this _Nazi._

“Stark,” The captain’s voice was a low murmur, perfectly German and a clear sign to keep it moving.

Tony hesitated for the barest of moments, and then deciding that cowering was even more detestable to him than immediate obedience. Slowly Tony moved away from the piano and made his way with deliberate ease toward his waiting host. The Captain closed the door behind him with a click that seemed obscenely loud and Tony flinched. It was stupid stupid stupid, to antagonize the man this way. Dangerous. What had he been thinking?

_Not thinking, as usual Stark._

In the photos he’d perused on the desk the young Captain Rogers hadn't quite managed the same emotionless gaze as the rest of his company, but he was doing a first rate job of it now.  It must have come with age.

“In the future Herr Stark, I expect you to stay where you are told,” the captain warned and Tony tried his best to diffuse the tension.

 “I apologize Captain. It’s a beautifully appointed room. Curiosity got the better of me. Could you blame me?”

The Captain’s blink came too slow. His answer however was blunt and sharp edged.

“Yes.”

Alright, so manners were not something the military excelled in, fair enough.

“Well then you don’t know what you’ve got. Do your children play? There’s seven of them I assume one of them plays, you could have your own merry band of Rogers’ players. Do they sing too? All hours of the night I’m sure. It won’t be a problem, well not for me, monk and all. Up all hours anyway, midnight vespers is great preparation for overzealous opera singers,” Tony babbled and the Captain's face twitched, something unidentifiable fluttering over his blank mask. In the face of his silence it seemed that Tony’s brain to mouth filter remained as unreliable as it had ever been.

“In fact if they-

“No Herr Stark,” the Captain snapped and Tony fell silent. He seemed to regret something of the brusqueness in his tone because he took a breath before he added, a tad gentler “My children don’t play.”

 Well that was….odd.

“Do _you_ play?” Tony asked, but the captain didn’t seem to believe in moving or holding up conversation (ever) so Tony charged on. “I used to play. _Mamma_ had high ideas about culture and all the arts. To this day I can still dance a tarantella with my eyes closed.”

  _Sweet Jesus, did the man never blink?_

As Tony continued to vomit words he had the uncomfortable feeling the captain was taking him apart and inspecting his insides with his eyes. It left him feeling far too exposed. Tony had had enough of that for one day.

“So the Children, where are they? You’d think with near a dozen you’d-”

“I’m sorry,” the captain interjected. “You were sent by the monastery for me, for my household, correct? Are you always so talkative?” Tony frowned, almost too distracted by the implied insult to notice the slight way the captain had slurred his words. Tony watched as Rogers made a move as if to rub his hand over his face but aborted the motion at the last moment.  

 “Are you alright?” Tony asked.

Again the captain blinked far too slowly.

There was definitely something off about him. Drunk perhaps. He wouldn't be the first war hero to succumb to the drink. Tony’s fingers twitched at his sides noticing now that the captain was in the light of the entry that his skin had taken on a gray greenish tinge. He looked sickly and again Tony was drawn to compare the officer he’d met so briefly at the abbey and the man in front of him now. Yes, he was statuesque but it was stiff, controlled, with none of the grace he remembered from before.

“You’re staring, Herr Stark” the captain accused. Tony scrambled for an explanation that wouldn’t offend the man.

“You-. I’m afraid you don’t look very much like a captain,” Too winced, caught himself and tried to rephrase. “Not how I imagined that is.”

 The captain twitched again, only this time Tony was certain it had more to do with him than drunkenness or illness.

"I’m afraid you don’t look very much like a monk, Herr Stark,” came his dry reply. Tony ground his teeth keeping his lips shut for once. Smile, nod, and say yes that was his mantra for the unforeseeable future.

 “I hope not, I’m your tutor now.”

Although as it turned out, it was looking less like that was going to be the case because the captain pinned him with the hardest look Tony had ever been given. It made him very much doubt that Rogers was finding any satisfaction with Tony’s presence. A suspicion confirmed when next he said, “I told the Father Abbot I was in need of the most educated monk he was in possession of, nothing le-”

“And here I am,” Tony bristled.

“Yes, here you are.” Rogers clapped his hands behind his back and Tony wondered if the captain had meant to fall into parade rest. “My children don’t need supervision as much as they need a tutor. I trust the Abbot has brought you up to date with my children’s circumstance?”

Tony nodded and the Captain plowed on, as if reciting from a handbook.

“My oldest son has a heart condition and will be home this school year. I have a private doctor to see to him, so you needn’t concern yourself. I expect him to be, if not ahead of his peers, keeping up with the rest of the school children. There is no exception in this, Herr Stark. Do you understand? They are not to waste their summer away day dreaming. Frau Hogan will give you the paperwork for the new school year.”

The clock above the mantle chimed five. Something in the Captain moved, Tony might have called it a flinch in anyone else.

“They are to march the grounds every morning for a half hour, breathing deeply. Then quickly to their studies, sciences and maths until noon followed by supper, then German literature, Frau Hogan has a list of approved material, choose whatever you like. History, economy and the rest is to be carried out in the evening.” The long list of instructions finished, the captain slipped his hand into his pocket producing a silver whistle. He slipped it back and forth between his fingers, absently.

“I don’t expect you to watch them after dinner as long as their studies are complete. Do you think you can handle all this, Herr Stark?” He paused, waiting for Tony’s answer. When Tony nodded he took a breath and continued.

“You are the third of a... disappointing line of tutors. I don’t wish to displace you.” The unfinished ‘but I will’ hung in the air. The fingered whistle went to the captain's lips.  

“When do they play?” Tony heard himself ask. So much for keeping his mouth shut. The Captain hesitated.

“Excuse me?”

 “When do they play?” Tony asked again and Captain Rogers blinked at him mulling it over like he’d never heard the words before.

 “I told you, my children don’t play any instrum-”

 “- No, when do they play in the garden, with each other, alone, when do they...you know, do childish things?”

Tony was pushing his luck, he knew it, but in all honesty the man was kidding himself. No constant supervision, hah. That was exactly what the Captain wanted. Tony couldn't wait to see what the curriculum guides looked like. With a father so unabashedly militant it was no doubt little better than Führer propaganda signed and stamped with tiny swastikas.

“When their studies are complete. As I said, they will not waste away their summer,” Rogers answered stiffly. Then he held the whistle to his lips and blew four sharp shot trills. Almost immediately footsteps could be heard pounding throughout the upstairs rooms.

Did he keep elephants upstairs?

The children came from nowhere and everywhere at once. Upstairs, down the hallway, any number of doors opened revealing a child. One by one they lined up in a row tallest to shortest like tiny soldiers. It struck a sour note with him. Children should not be soldiers. Tony had seen all the propaganda for the Hitlerjugend, and in recent months he’d had the pleasure of witnessing them marching through the streets (who hadn’t?). Boys and girls of all ages delighted to be disposable to the German army. Smiling faces and blonde heads gleaming in the sunlight. Idyllic and dangerous. What was the country coming too?  He shifted away from them uneasily.

Tony jumped as a door to the music room slammed shut and a tiny girl ran out, scuttling into line with her siblings. Captain Rogers frowned at her as she took her place. Where had she come from? The music room had been empty while he was in there. Apparently not.

None of the children looked at him, instead they stared straight ahead, chests out, arms rim rod straight at their sides. The Captain slowly walked down the line of his children inspecting his recruits with a quick eye. They seemed to know on some ethereal plane what he wanted. A quick adjustment to the collar of a shirt and fixed fly away hairs were all communicated with a look. It might have been something to wonder at if it didn't give Tony the chills.

He stopped in front of the girl who’d arrived late and gazed down at her quietly. She stared back  with eyes wide and neck craned up to look at her father. The captain held out his hand. She hesitated and then pulled out a small book from under her dress, placing it in his outstretched palm. Without waiting for another word she turned around and bent at the waist. Rogers swatted her lightly with her book and turned back to Tony.      

“These, Herr Stark, are my children. This, children, is your new tutor, Antony Stark.” He gestured gingerly at Tony. Tony’s eyes tracked the movement. “The children have a signal to call for them, as do the servants.”

Tony watched in horrified wonder as the captain proceeded to demonstrate, blowing on his whistle in sharp (not to mention increasingly irritating) bursts as one by one the children marched forward to present themselves for introduction and marched perfectly back into line.

First was Péter, the oldest judging by height: a tall skinny brunette wearing spectacles. Then came Natacha: too pretty for her own good, too old in her eyes. Ian: stiff spine, serious mouth, eerily reminiscent of his father despite the lack of obvious resemblance. James: clearly trouble. Artur: could have been his father’s twin aged down, but fidgety and desperately curious about the stranger in their midst. Maria: sweet, shy, a dark haired beauty, too reminiscent of home.

The last one (thankfully) was a little girl all of three who toddled forward belatedly at her siblings prompting with a huge baby toothed grin and failed to introduce herself. According to the embarrassed looking Captain the blond little cherub's name was Sara.

When little Sara had done her best approximation of a march back into line the captain produced another whistle from his jacket pocket and held his own to his lips again. “Now. When I want you, Herr Stark, you’ll hear-”

“No! I-that won’t be necessary!” Tony had been prepared for a great deal of things but he would not, could not answer to a whistle like some sort of trained canine.

 The captain lowered his hand and surveyed him quietly. Behind him the children rustled in silent anticipation.

 “It’s the most efficient way, Herr Stark. The grounds are very extensive and I will not have everyone shouting for one another. Learn to use it.” He held out the whistle to Tony and when he didn’t immediately reach to take it Rogers nodded to his mini gestapo. “The children will help you".

“It’s fine. It won’t be necessary, thank you,” Tony insisted stiffly.

"It is necessary,” Rogers insisted in return.

 “For dogs. And possibly cats” Tony refuted and they stared at one another, the Captain's fingers slowly twisting the whistle again. The way his fingers turned over the silver piece, it might as well have been a knife.

 “Tell me, were you this much trouble at the abbey?” Rogers finally asked.

 “I’m sure I was more,” Tony admitted. He shoved his hand into his pockets and tried to smile, it felt more like broken glass stretched over his face but in this house he doubted anyone would know the difference.

 The whistle was still held out between them.

“Herr Stark.”

Tony took the warning for what it was and reached for the offensive little thing. He made a show of pocketing it. There was that unreadable flicker again in the captain's eyes and Tony wondered if he might not have blown his chances here before he’d even really begun. Rogers clicked his tongue dismissively and to Tony’s complete surprise he let the matter drop. Rogers did not strike him as the type to back down however so he did not count on it being a regular occurrence but he appeared content not to press the issue. Indeed the man turned and without any real acknowledgment to his children headed for the hall, murmuring as he departed for them to carry on.

The children relaxed a smidgen and Tony watched the captain’s retreating back. A flood of hate inexplicably welled in his chest. Whistles and commands. Barely coded insults. Who the hell did this man think he was? What did he think any of them were, that he would behave so coldly, so unfeelingly? Imagine, appearing drunk on the day he was to hand his children into the care of a stranger and having the nerve to look down on _Tony_!

The whistles shrill chirp stopped Captain Rogers in his tracks. He turned slowly, dangerously, and Tony gave him his most innocent expression.

“Excuse me, Sir, what do I call when I want you?”

Rogers was not fooled by either the innocence in his expression or guilelessness in his tone, Tony could tell and he felt a thrill of satisfaction go through him. It was a small victory but it was his and he was pleased the captain knew it. As the man unclenched his teeth just long enough to bite out the reply, “You may call me Captain” the corner of Tony Stark's mouth lifted in a little grin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've only gotten Tony's first impressions of them here but we'll meet the Rogers children in earnest next chapter. As this story centers as much on the family as it does the war time elements (if not more) each child has been lovingly crafted for it. James Rogers is not James "Bucky" Barnes but James Rogers of the Next Avengers (Earth 555326). Uncle Bucky will be coming along next chapter as well, so if you've been minding the tags and got a bit of a jolt, I wanted to clarify that there is no incest in this story. Peter and Natacha are of course Peter Parker and Natasha Romanov, Ian is Ian Zola of dimension Z, while Maria and Sara are the names of Tony and Steve's mothers. Last but not least Artur is a loving homage to Arto from sara_holmes wonderful fic Counterpart. I demand you run not walk over there and read it if you haven't already.
> 
> We really hope you enjoyed this opening and look forward to the next update. We have no set schedule as yet, as we both work and I have another fic I am working on but encouragement is love. And just between you and me, my partner is a first time fic writer so please tell us how you liked this chapter and send some love her way if you're feeling it as she's wonderful to work with. Adios, and until next time. You're all lovelies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony meets the children (and several little friends) and Steve might have bit off far more than he can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is not okay, poor duck, and now there's this crazy monk running around.

 

While Tony had never known the taste of victory to be anything but sweet he had learned quickly and early on that, however sweet it could sometimes be, it could be just as fleeting. Such was the case that evening, when the captain had departed with a stiffness in his step and left Tony with seven pairs of assessing eyes looking up at him from little faces.

The middle boy and the three youngest were giggling, clearly amused by the tete-a-tete he’d just had with their father. The oldest girl looked far less amused, blue eyes staring into him with bored disdain as if he were the child and she already weary of his antics. The other two boys looked as if they might have wanted to join their siblings in their amusement, but found themselves torn between loyalties. Especially when their red haired sister turned those judging eyes on them as if to say: really?

Tony could already tell that this was going to be a nightmare.

Seven children, by all the saints, Rogers was a virile beast wasn’t he? Though it was perhaps best not to dwell on that given the man’s political affiliations and corresponding doses of extra dislike for things considered amoral (that others might have been more forgiving of in better times). Tony could not count on a man like Rogers to look the other way if he suspected there was something deviant about Tony, sexual or otherwise.

Right then.

Tony cleared his throat and Rogers’ mini gestapo snapped to attention so fast it looked painful.

“Alright, now that it’s just you and I,” Tony began with a sympathetic wince. “Why don’t you… at ease?”

Far from getting them to relax like he had hoped the Rogers children - in perfect synchronization mind you - went into parade rest. He was apparently going to have to work very hard to see if there were indeed really any children living in the Rogers household, or if they had all been replaced by astoundingly impressive androids.

“Okay.” Tony, never one to give up easily clapped his hands together. “Let us start from the beginning. Names, ages, and something important about yourself that I should know.”

Tony had barely finished when the oldest boy (the sick one) was already clicking his heels and marching forward to reintroduce himself with his nose in the air and the straightest spine Tony had ever seen on something that wasn’t a book. He certainly didn’t look too ill to attend school.

“I’m Péter. I’m fourteen years old-” here he turned his head just long enough to frown grumpily at Tony and spit out, “-and I don’t need a tutor.”

 Though it certainly didn’t make his job easier Tony could see the boy’s point. Fourteen was too old to be taught at home and he was sure that Péter would have rather enjoyed being at a public school with other boys and girls his age than coddled and cooped up at home, heart condition or no.

“That’s great. I’m not keen on being a tutor anyway,” Tony replied, nodding to Péter as the boy fell back into line. “I prefer friends.” If he’d hoped for some sort of confirmation from Péter his sister didn’t give it a chance as she was already marching her way forward to begin her own introduction.

“Natacha Rogers. I’m twelve.” And just to prove she was an obstinate little thing she looked directly at him and drolly told him that the most important fact about herself was that she was a girl. Only a simpleton could look at a young woman like Natacha and see only a girl, but then again Tony was a man of extreme intelligence who had run across more than his fair share of dullards and he was sure she’d grown used to them.

“A fact I’m sure you’re proud of,” Tony drawled just before turning to the next in line.

Next was Ian.

“I’m eleven, and I’m sure to get what’s coming to me!”

Tony didn’t know what he found more alarming at first, the rapid succession in which the late Mrs. Rogers appeared to have bred them all (god rest her poor saintly soul) or the completely assured and serious manner in which Ian had just announced he was due a grim fate (as if nothing had ever been more certain). Tony decided on the latter.

“Who on earth told you that?” he asked and the child did not so much as bat an eyelash before he earnestly replied.

“Frauline Glass, two governesses ago.”

Ian marched himself back into line and the next one stepped forward proclaiming to be called Artur with an innocent expression and an air of friendliness that would have admittedly suckered Tony had he not the advantage of an eidetic memory.

“And how old are you James?” Tony asked, emphasizing the child’s real name and grinning at the boy’s disappointed scowl. Maria chose that moment to step forward, out of succession, and despite her brother’s dark glower in her direction the dark haired little girl smiled sweetly up at him and said, “I’m Maria and I’m five. That’s James and he’s eight. You’re smart and very pretty.”

As she stepped back into line the little boy on her left (the real Artur) hissed at her that it wasn’t proper to say such things and Maria indignantly hissed back, “And why not? Don’t you think he’s pretty?”

Tony hid a chuckle behind a cough as Artur, Rogers’ miniature, answered back with, “Boys aren’t pretty.” He then marched forward with purpose and announced that his name was Artur, he was seven and a holy terror (no doubt something learned at the apron strings of the previously mentioned Frauline Glass). Tony was still biting his lip trying not to laugh aloud when he felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to find little Sara staring up at him indignantly with hands on her hips. He knelt so that he was not towering over her and greeted her with a warm smile. So sue him, he was a sucker for cherubs.

“And you are Sara,” he acknowledged and the little girl nodded, blond bangs flopping as she held up three chubby fingers. Tony widened his eyes as if shocked and gasped, “and you’re three! Practically a lady. I was expecting cribs full of babies, how lucky of me to have such a grown up young lady to talk to instead. I’ll admit I’ve never done this sort of thing before-”

“You mean you’ve never been a tutor?” Natacha zeroed in on the heart of the matter like a bird circling prey and Tony had to admire how penetrating her stare was. “And I suppose you’ve never been in a house like this before?”

The judgment as well as the shrewdness in the girls tone was clear. Judging by the poor state of his clothing and the fact that he’d come from the abbey it was easy to assume he was some sort of ill-bred country yokel, a fool easily led by someone clearly as clever as Natacha Rogers. Tony smiled at her as he straightened up and shook his head just to see what she would do.

“Well then, you should know Father will expect you to organize our meals and see to the washing of our clothes. He had Frauline Glass giving him wake up calls so I imagine if you’d like to be half as impressive you’ll have to do that as well.” The advice was so blandly given, flung his way so carelessly, as if the girl were already bored with it and moving on to better thoughts, that had Tony truly had no prior experience with great houses like these he would have believed her. As it was he knew damn well that a house this size had servants and a housekeeper whom he’d only annoy and disrupt if he attempted to take over such household duties as the cooking and the cleaning; and he had no idea whatsoever why the Captain would have required a wakeup call from the ever more interesting Frauline Glass (though he could hazard a guess or two) but he very much doubted he’d welcome the same coming from Tony.

“And you should always slurp your soup! Father loves that,” Artur helpfully (and far less artfully than his sister) chimed in, and on his back James tried to convince Tony that the Captain appreciated his employees telling him to mind his own business. Natacha rolled her eyes ceiling ward and Tony laughed.

“No!” Sara cried from the throng of increasingly helpful voices, tugging once again upon Tony’s pant leg. “Don’t listen to them Herr Stark!”

“And why is that?” Tony asked with a grin and Sara glared furiously at her siblings as she clutched to him.

“Because I like you!”

“Can I share a secret with you?” Tony leaned down and cupped a hand against his mouth to faux whisper. Sara nodded eagerly and he continued. “I grew up in a big house, just like this one. Bigger maybe.”

Natacha glanced at him sharply, pink coloring her cheeks as she and accused suspiciously, “I thought you were a monk.”

“And I thought a lady never lied,” Tony replied with a shrug as Sara slipped her hand in his. It was slightly sticky with heaven only knew what but he supposed that was fairly typical with small children.

“Neither do monks,” Natacha shot back at him and Tony shrugged again.

“Misconceptions all around. But, now that we’re all better acquainted how about showing me to my room?”

At that very moment, with a clack of heels against the polished floor, a tall woman with a businesslike air came bustling into the hall from the direction that Captain Rogers had disappeared in. Her hair was not as red as Natacha’s but she was far more freckled, the becoming spots dotting her pretty nose like pepper in a way that Tony was sure her beaus had adored. It was a shame that she was already married. A dalliance here or there might have made his stay here less stressful on his nerves.

She looked young to be a housekeeper but the heavy set of keys hanging at her waist and the professional manner in which she stepped were telling. There was a worried set to her lips and lines on her brow that spoke of some unspoken stress of her own but her tone was fond as she clapped her hands and addressed the children.

“I’ll see to that children, it’s outside until dinner.” She turned to Tony even as she began herding the reluctant children towards the door.

“My apologies Herr Stark, but the Captain returned from his travels later than expected and the house is behind schedule.”

At the mention of the Captain Natacha perked to attention. She lingered behind as the rest of her siblings filed obediently out the door at Frau Hogan’s insistence, catching the older woman’s eye when the last of them had disappeared.

“Is Father alright? Does he need me?” Tony heard her whisper and he watched as the housekeeper placed a hand on her back and the two seemed to share an entire conversation with furtive glances alone before Frau Hogan quietly murmured, “he’s attending some business in his study. He has his duties and we have ours. The best way to help him is to see to them, yes? Go on now.”

Tony wondered at that as Frau Hogan gently nudged the girl out the door and closed it behind her with a small sigh. Alone, she turned back to him with an apologetic smile. Neither it nor the prettiness of her face distracted Tony from noticing the assessing nature of her glance nor the intelligence behind her eyes. She was observing him closely and Tony did not have to be a genius to figure that if there were something ‘rotten in the state of Denmark’ then she as the keeper of its keys was probably privy to it. Perhaps a little flirtation was still in order? Tony was supposed to be a spy now after all.

“Again, I must apologize for not being here to greet you when you met the children,” She began as she walked back toward him. “How did you find them?”  Tony only deliberated for half a second on how to reply, but some instinct told him that Frau Hogan would see through any pandering and would appreciate frankness much more.

“A charming bunch of schemers and manipulators.”

It was a barely missed step but still a missed one as Frau Hogan huffed a startled laugh but she quickly regained her footing as she began to lead him toward the stairs, leaving him no option but to follow.

“Well, consider yourself lucky Herr Stark. They put a headless chicken in the bed of the previous governess.”

“How delightfully blood thirsty. Would this be the bed of the infamous Frauline Glass?”

Frau Hogan (and Tony was really going to have to call her something else besides her married name if he was going to flirt with her properly) wrinkled her nose at the mention of the woman (Pepper, he was going to call her Pepper for the freckles) but the corner of her mouth twitched in merriment. She hadn’t liked Frauline Glass either it seemed.

“One and the same. I see the children were talkative.”

“More than I can say of their father. Is the Captain always so… militant?” Tony hedged, half expecting to be told off for his impertinence, but he’d already gotten this far and he was unable to resist the urge to push further (one of his many personality flaws according to Father Niklas).

“He’s been that way since his wife passed I’m afraid,” Pepper answered with an air of quiet sadness that told Tony not only of her fondness for the Captain but also for his late wife. “Though you might not believe it, this used to be a house full of laughter, oh and music. The Captain’s wife loved to dance. They would throw such wonderful parties people used to say this house lit up Salzburg.”

“A love match then?” Tony inquired, though he could summarize as much what with seven children running about. Indeed Pepper gave him a droll look as she replied.

“Quite.”

“A shame.” Tony hummed sympathetically as he followed behind Pepper’s swishing skirts, pretending to focus on his perusal of their opulent surroundings and not his line of questioning. “She was so young.”

“Struck down by fever barely six months after she’d had Sara. We were devastated.”

“It is no wonder the man drinks,” he murmured and Tony could not tell whether she halted so quickly because they’d reach the door of the room that was apparently to be his or because of his assumption but she turned to him with an arched brow and an expression of polite inquiry that did nothing to belay the underlining command in her tone as she asked him who he meant. Since his foot was already in it Tony decided on the direct approach. Frau Hogan had responded to it well thus far

“The Captain. I don’t judge. I hardly could – ask anyone – I never was good at holding the commandments, especially that one about drunkenness. Though you mustn’t fret about that either, I wouldn’t attempt to drink and manage children at the same time. I simply mean that I understand how such a loss could drive a man to drink.”

“Herr Stark. Forgive me, but I should make it clear to you that if you witnessed any odd behavior from Captain Rogers this evening it was a result of weariness and not, as you say, drunkenness. The captain is trusted with matters of grave importance. He is not a man known to indulge.”

Tony admired the woman’s ability to deliver such a scathing set down behind neatly packaged politeness. He nodded in deference but did not apologize for the misstep. Pepper’s loyalty to her employer was admirable but something had clearly been _wrong_ with Rogers. He’d either been drunk or sunk to the level of exhaustion only achieved when sleep and regular meals were a distant memory. Tony should know, he was well experienced with it. If it truly had just been weariness that ailed the captain Tony had to wonder what sort of matters Rogers was involved in that could leave him in such a state.

While it would have been easy to assume that Pepper was merely covering for him and that there was nothing deeper to it, Tony had never been one to make things easy on himself. He hadn’t thought he’d make a good spy but as the good Alice said, things were just getting curiouser and curriouser.

~*~

Stefen Rogers leaned against the door of his office for support. What a sense of humor Father Farkas was turning out to have. What a waste of his time and energies (energy he had too precious little of at present). Surely the Abbot had not meant to send that man in answer to his request, unless it was in jest. Herr Stark was not fit to watch a cat let alone a child!

Steve unclenched his fists, keeping them at his side, trying to work the blood through white fingers, considering.

Was there time to get someone else? He needed someone he could trust, someone who would take the nature of his situation seriously. Not some silly, prattling, not to mention stubborn, fool who was likely to insist the sky was green just to be contrary. Schmidt would laugh himself sick before the ink dried on the children’s registration papers.

Steve’s breath hitched and he gritted his teeth against the swell of pain in his chest. His leg throbbed underneath him and he eyed his desk chair consideringly.

He wasn't sure if his ribs could take sitting down but was nearly just as sure he couldn't stand much longer.

He thought back to the moment he’d first seen Stark. Something in him had snapped tight at the sight of the monk at Peggy’s piano. He hadn't had the energy to do much but order him out, though he’d spoken with more force than he’d intended, judging by that flicker of fear he’d seen on Stark's face before the strange monk had covered it with senseless prattle and a confident smile. 

Steve hadn’t meant to snap. That piano hadn't been touched in three years. Since before the family had fallen ill to scarlet fever. His wife had played it for the children often, to sooth them. She’d been the last person to touch it and Steve could never bring himself to play it after.

His last clear memory of her there was from before the days of fever. He could recall her perfectly: back straight, fingers gliding over the keys. It had been raining, Natacha and Péter had whined all day about being cooped up indoors. Even Ian had kicked up a strop, only to eventually wander off to curl under a blanket and listen to his mother play.

Steve had just returned from Berlin, tired, wet, with a sore throat and ready to eat a meal for an army. He'd shucked his coat and stood watching her from the doorway. All of the tension that he’d carried with him from the road had melted away. He could have watched her for hours.

When the butler had retrieved him from his study, muttering about about the arrival of the monk, he'd expected to find one of the senior monks he’d encountered at the abbey: white haired, kind, if not of blank, expression. He’d thought perhaps, it would even be the collected quiet man he'd met briefly during his meeting with Father Farkas. He'd not been prepared to find the hall empty and to hear music coiling through the hallway like the echo of better days.

He'd forgotten himself and the next thing he'd known he was in front of the drawing room door, hand curling around the knob, foolishly hoping and unable to understand his conflicted emotions. The shock of seeing a man at the piano had stopped his breath.

One thing was for certain. Herr Stark didn't look a thing like what he'd expected.

Steve shook his head to clear it. The monk had to go. He needed a proper tutor and Antony Stark was a laughable liability he couldn't afford.

 _“Hire a tutor,”_ Bucky had said, knocking back the last of his beer, _“Government approved, but a man you will have some control over.”_

Steve had thought he’d carefully laid out what he needed from Father Niklas. Someone level headed, obedient, loyal, disciplined, and consistent. In retrospect what he'd needed was a soldier in the form of a monk. Someone who would pass Reich protocol but remain loyal to him.

Stark was not that man. Stark and discipline appeared to not have heard of each other.

Steve shed his suit jacket, letting it drop to the floor in a puddle of cloth and resisted the urge to rub a hand over his face.

He was exhausted.

He pulled out his chair, with more force than he meant to, the back of it bumping his thigh and swore. All he wanted was to be horizontal. Was that asking for so much? Probably.

There were things to be taken care of first.

The letter was burning a hole in his pocket. The sooner he could pass it off to Bucky the better. He meant to hide it in one of the boxed gifts he was to bring with him to Vienna. He’d phoned the hotel Bucky was staying at that morning from outside a shop to set up the rendezvous. Even over the phone Bucky had sensed something was wrong but he had agreed to meet as soon as possible. It was a relief all things considered.

But first things first. Another tutor was in order. 

He rifled in his drawer, pulling out a pen and piece of parchment. Pen poised Steve searched for the right words to write to Father Farkas. Though he thought he’d been perfectly clear regarding his needs, apparently he’d been grievously misunderstood. 

He was nearly finished when the door clicked open. Steve didn’t bother to look up as there were few servants he employed that didn't bother to announce themselves.

“I’ve shown the tutor to his rooms, Captain. I must say, he’s not quite what I expected for a…man of God.”

Virginia Hogan stood in the doorway, an envelope folded under her arm. She smiled when Steve looked up at her and approached the desk, heels clicking on hardwood floor.

“He’s an unemployed monk now.” Steve muttered, jotting down a few more choice words. “What is it?”

Frau Hogan paused, her eyebrows raising as she took in his wadded jacket on the floor before sliding the envelope onto the desk, her brow furrowed. Steve lowered the pen. He could already feel he wasn't going to like what came next. 

“Frau Hogan.” Steve prompted, not quite managing to keep the warning out of his voice.

She tilted her head and Steve could tell she was reading the letter upside down and disproving.

He shifted the unfinished letter closer to himself and she huffed a breath, her mouth twitching into a thin line.

“If I may speak freely sir?”

As if he'd ever stopped her before. He nodded automatically and she continued.

“I’ve not seen anything that would make me feel Herr Stark should be out of a job, just yet. His manners are lacking, clearly, but I see no reason to dismiss him.”

She paused, her voice lowering. “Especially when his position needs to be filled as quickly as it does.”

Pressure was building behind Steve’s eyes. He rubbed at his face without thinking and winced at the sharp pain. He rubbed his fingers together, grimacing distastefully at the thick concealer that had come away on his hand.

Frau Hogan made an aborted movement towards him, the hand that was reaching for his face falling to her side and smoothing her dress instead.

He found himself wishing she’d finished the touch but he quickly pushed the thought away.

“He seems eccentric to be sure.” She continued “He seemed more than ready to teach the children the curriculum you selected for them, and even more important he did not question it. Besides, I think the children like him.”

Really? He hadn't noticed but he supposed it was possible. It would be a better turn than the last two tutors. Considering James and Natacha had put a dead chicken in a previous governess’ bed, it really wasn't that hard to imagine.

His doubt must have shown on his face because her lips quirked and she sighed.

“They tolerate him, Captain.”

“They’re biding their time.”

“It's been a half hour and there's been no animal carcass, I’ll count it as a win, Sir.

Steve glared at her. She lowered her gaze but stood her ground.

“In my humble opinion, Sir, it would benefit your goals if you were to wait a while more. Yes? Just to see how things work out.”

No. He needed someone who would listen. The children had to be kept-

“Sir?” The desperation in her voice stilled him.

“What are they going to do if you’re...indisposed as you were this morning? The quicker you have someone on your side.” she huffed a breath through her nose, her lips pursed. No doubt the memory of that morning turning over in her head.

She'd found him bent over the sink, blood smeared on the porcelain, shirt off and skin mottled with deep purple bruises. For what seemed like an age she’d stared at him, eyes wide with horror, then she’d seemed to come out of it in a split moment. She’d pursed her lips, turned on her heel and left him. Steve's stomach had dropped but she’d returned a moment later with a medical kit and had silently seen to him.

He'd felt a burst of gratitude and something that felt like guilt settle in his chest as she’d cared for him. She'd even pulled out her makeup compact and covered the bruises on his face. Those ones had been accidents.

They’d meant to keep his face clean. No strikes to the back of the head, nothing that could be fatal.

It was a warning, He'd have been dead if it was anything else.

Frau Hogan had been picking up his shirt, grimy and ruined with blood, when she’d discovered the folded letter poking out of the lining of his jacket. She’d pulled it out and looked to him questioningly. Steve had held out his hand, feeling a flicker of pride when it did not shake.

“Give it to me,” he’d quietly ordered and she’d looked at him, slowly understanding.

“Will they come here? Stefen, the men who did this-”

He’d taken the letter, folded it into his trouser pocket and looked her in the eyes.

“No. It was a warning.”

“But Stefen, why?”

“For this.” His fingers had drifted to his pocket. “They have no proof, but they wanted their message to take.”

It hadn’t. Despite possible broken ribs.

Something indecipherable had passed over her face but she’d nodded after a moment. The unspoken plea ‘don’t let them come here’ drifting between them. 

Steve clenched his jaw tight. She was right of course. Completely right. He wasn’t thinking. He was acting out of emotion, out of fear. Had been for months now. He couldn't seem to stop himself though. He'd not seen a bed in what was approaching fifty hours and his body and it would be a while before he recovered from General Schmidt's warning. Even his writing, when Steve looked down at it, was leaning more and more to the right, nearly off the page in a sloppy lope. He blew out a rush of air, suddenly so bone weary he felt he could have melted through the floor.

“I don’t know if I can risk that, Virginia,” he finally answered her worries.

Her eyes trailed over his face, admiring her skill with the makeup brush, to a piece of unanswered post resting innocently on the corner of the desk. She reached over and pushed it closer.

“I think we might have to.”

With a sense of dread Steve sniped open the envelope, dreading its contents. It was the same as before. Steve flicked through the letter his stomach dropping with each line.

       

                _Dear Captain Rogers_

_We are pleased to hear of the recovery of your eldest son and anxiously await the return of your boys to the Deutsche Jungvolk this fall. As you know, we in Austria welcome the intention of the German Youth Movement and expect the youth of all Austria’s patriots to participate.  No one questions the loyalty of a soldier of your reputation and we are sure that as a father you are as dedicated as we to assure the proper education of the Reichlands young minds. My friend, I was greatly worried to hear of your eldest son’s sudden condition and the force with which the summer fever took your younger boys. So healthy and yet stuck down so suddenly and viciously. Is it not proof that we must be ever watchful against the unexpected? Those insidious minds and voices who would corrupt the young minds of our children like disease in an otherwise healthy host?_

_In writing to you, a shining example of Aryan supremacy, I need not remind that a great responsibility relies upon us, responsibility for the Reichland’s future. Hopes are set upon you, Captain. I am confident that trust is not mislaid. The country has greatly missed the influence of any singular Rogers for some time. We hope to see this rectified as soon as possible, providing all is well and fair in the household. The HJ and I eagerly await young Péter’s enrolment at the end of summer. Do not trouble yourself with the BDM, the maidens have been notified and have set aside a place for all three of your girls. I’m sure with a well penned note they could be convinced to let the eldest bypass all the way to second guard. An honor befitting your stature..._

 

The letter continued on, each word more barbed then the last. It was signed 

_General Willham S. Striker, Reichjugendfuhrer_

Steve crumpled the letter in his fist. He was going to be sick. It must have shown on his face because before he knew it Virginia was pushing gently on his shoulder and guiding him into his chair.

He buried his face in his hands. Between Striker and Schmidt he did not know which way to turn these days. Risk to his life was something he'd come to expect, almost didn't quite know how to live without if he was honest, but recently the target had shifted. Now it was pointed at him through his children. 

There was nothing for it. Herr Stark would stay because there was no other option. If he were honest the option of tutoring them at home was barely on the table. The State would have to approve him and the State had never intended to leave his children out of the spotlight. Their absence said too much and could not be allowed to spark people’s minds toward rebellion. The children’s various ailments and their removal from the city had, at best, irritated General Striker, as the head of the youth movement had made quite clear time and time again, no doubt pressured by Schmidt. Steve had bent over backwards to keep the Hitler-Jugend away and yet somehow they had found their way back to his doorstep all the same howling for his children.

Try as he might to keep it at bay it was changing them all and not for the better.

Last year Steve had given in to the pressure and Artur as well as his brothers had officially joined the program. He’d thought that a few hours after school would not change much, at least not quickly, but Artur had always been so keen to keep up with the older boys. He’d come home singing their anthems. While Steve was sure the songs were something they were all being taught the older children must have either guessed at his distaste for it or at the very least had a stronger sense of self-preservation than little Artur.

He’d been in the garden, playing happily with Maria, whacking bushes with a stick turned rapier singing with the gusto of ten boys.

_“We will continue to march, even if everything falls to pieces! For today Germany hears us. Tomorrow the world....”_

Steve had been on his way to his study, still on edge from a meeting with General Schmidt. Try as he might he hadn’t been able to shake the uneasiness the meeting had left him with. Steve had looked up from his papers to see Artur sitting on his knees next to Maria in the garden brandishing that stick. He’d heard his son's voice, still sweet with youth, start to sing and thwack the bushes, his little arm swinging the stick in sharp arcs. The body of the bush shaking and spasming violently, and all the while Artur was singing. Singing and stabbing.

“ _Sharpen the long knives on the pavement, slip them into the bodies of the Je-_ ”

And then Steve had hit him. He'd hit his son.

“Don't you ever say those words! Never again.”  He’d hissed, grabbing him by the shirt collar and the boy had looked up at him with the shine of terror in his eyes.

Artur cried for an hour and gone missing for three. It had taken all of Péter, Frau Hogan and Steve’s efforts to find him. Though it had been the first and the only time - Steve had promised the boy so fervently - Artur still behaved sometimes as if he expected Steve to scream at him for the smallest infraction. To be struck...

Everything had gotten away from him so quickly.

Steve swallowed thickly. The ever present urge to find one of his children and... He wasn't sure what he wanted to do, actually. Hold them? Stand by them? Margret had always been so much better with them, had a gentle way of showing Steve how to hold their little bodies or what story was best before bed. The feeling of failure where they were concerned had become a familiar ache.

He could see the way they balked at his presence. Even his oldest were uneasy around him. It tore at him, kept him up at night, the distance that gaped between them... but it was necessary. He had no time to make them understand. They were too young to understand the dangers of the world they found themselves in and as far as Steve was concerned the less they knew the better.

Though he'd not received any orders, the Führer’s greed, Steve had no other word for it, was turned toward Czechoslovakia. Austria could not sustain another war, everyone knew it. But it seemed he and his men were expected to march out and reclaim “ What was theirs” for the German people, not just the land lost to Germany from the Great War but Poland, Italy, even England and France, for purposes that would boggle the mind of any sane man. The Führer desired the world and soon enough he would begin the fight to take it.

“-to highlight that nothing has changed in Salzburg.” Virginia sighed, and Steve realized she’d still been reading Striker’s letter.

Steve blinked up at her dazedly.

He shouldn’t have sat down he decided. He wasn’t so sure he could get back up again.

“Captain?”

Steve's mind was pleasantly blank. He licked his lips.  When had his mouth gone so dry? He scrambled to remember what he was meant to be doing.

He wasn't wearing his watch, his eyes fell on the clock. It was nearing dinner. 

There was the matter of Samuel, it was his last day on the grounds. Steve was to escort him to Vienna that evening. He should be up packing his things. Sam had told him he wanted to finish out the day in the garden but had he finished? Did he need anything for the journey?

Steve tried to stand and bumped his thigh against his desk sending a jolt of white hot pain through his injured leg. He collapsed back into his chair with a stifled grunt.

“Captain!” Virginia darted forward to catch his arm.

“It's nothing,” Steve hissed between his teeth, squeezing an arm around his middle. Bending double just increased the pain but his breath was hitching in his lungs and when he looked up into Virginia’s worried face it swam before him. He closed his eyes trying and failing to grasp a decent breath.

“You ought to lay down Sir. You don't look well.”

Steve shook his head but Virginia was already gently guiding him to his couch in the corner of the office. 

Steve struggled to sit. Managing a weak slump once she had situated him.

“Why didn’t you request more codeine?” She tutted, her hand ghosting over the hidden bruise on the side of his face.

“Didn't need it” he grunted, at least he’d thought he hadn't needed it. He'd taken twice the amount recommended, only stopping when Virginia stumbled upon him.

Sometime between then and now he'd gone disturbingly numb. The room danced a little as he refocused his attention on Virginia. She was muttering to herself.

“You're such a stubborn baby, ask for help when you need it.” Her hand stilled under his jaw and she frowned at him.

“Listen, I'm going to get you more codeine. Do not move. Understand? When you wake up I'll reapply the powder to your bruises but until then...”

Steve was barely listening, the minute his head had stopped swimming he'd begun to drift off. He began to lose himself.

He startled when Virginia kneeled down by his head (when had she left?) And rolled his shirt sleeve up and began to attend to the abrasion etched across his forearm just like she'd done that very morning. She'd done it up the way Peggy had shown her, cross bandage and all. His stomach rolled with grief and he shifted away from Frau Hogan, hiding his face with his uninjured arm.

“You'll have to undo your shirt,” she said, her nimble fingers already undoing his waistcoat. Steve let her, keeping his face turned away.

Any shame he had about losing his shirt to wounds had long since fled but she was familiar in a way that very little was anymore. That held its own embarrassment, as well as danger. Somehow he felt more exposed with his shirt open than he had that morning practically naked in the washroom.

Twelve years and she'd barely changed from the thin young woman whom Peggy had dragged into the cafe telling Steve in no uncertain terms that she would have a housekeeper and that was final. She couldn't keep up with her duties in the state, the house and a new baby. They had the money and they were damn well going to use it, she’d expressed vigorously as she had poured coffee for everyone. Steve had given in when Frau Hogan, then Fraulein Potts, had returned home with them and cradled a colicky Péter, miraculously (to Steve’s mind) calming him.

Virginia stood and Steve caught her arm.

“Don't go.”

He drew a shaky breath and forced himself to say the rest, to rely on his own strength rather than burden her with his nightmares.

“Don't go back to the cottage tonight. Stay with the children. I don't want... I don't know about Herr Stark.”

Virginia loosened his grip, tutting at him as she patted his hand gently, her gaze heavy. Steve thought she might have guessed the truth.

“Of course. I'll wake you for dinner, Captain.”

Steve slept. At some point he rolled in his sleep, fitfully jerking back and forth, his body protesting vigorously as the smell of blood and sewer penetrated his dreams. The ugly faces of his attacker morphed and molded into other faces: soldiers, younger, more Italian. The bodies multiplied, so that Steve was pressed close to their stinking cold flesh. They groped at him, his face, and his chest. He couldn’t breathe and he was so damn cold.   

He was yanked from the dream at the sound of a thump. Eyes fixed on the ceiling, Steve struggled to calm his breathing as his eyes darted around the room.

The door was closed, no one was in the room Steve scolded himself. He covered his face with his hand, a small whimper escaping him.

No one was there.

He was in Salzburg in his own house, his office for god's sake. When had he become so feeble minded?

He drifted in and out after that, running from night terrors until finally, blessedly, he sank into unconsciousness. Just before his eyes closed the final time he caught sight of a figure sitting at his desk table watching him, the dim light shifting on red braids.

 

~*~

 

When Stefen woke again he was greeted with a head full of fog. He should have slept in his bed. His joints clicked and clenched from his injuries and his position on the couch.

He found the pills Frau Hogan had left on his desk and downed them. It took a moment but he managed to tame his sweat styled hair and gingerly switch his clothes for fresher less wrinkled ones. It was time he pull himself together, take care of the situation before it endangered his family any more than it already had. He would go to Vienna right away.

The staff were digging into their meal when Steve walked into the kitchens. Their conversation immediately stopped and Herr Hammer jumped to attention, clearing his throat loudly.

“Is there something you needed Sir? I didn't hear you ring.” He glared at the night staff, Frau Hogan, her husband, Willamina the cook and his grounds keeper Samuel Wiess, gathered around the table as if it was personally their fault.

“I didn't ring.” He said dismissing Herr Hammer with a wave of his hand. “I was looking for Herr Wiess.” 

Hammer’s face barely changed but Steve could still sense the quiet irritation coming from his butler. Herr Hammer turned and jerked his head at Sam.

Sam, rising, shared a look with Frau Hogan.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Get your things, we’re leaving as soon as I finish with my bags”  Steve instructed, though in truth all he wanted was find his way to his bed.

“Sir, you've not heard? Can't take the main roads till tomorrow morning. Roads all torn up from the parades this week.”

That...made no sense. The parades had been pageantry at best. Only one tank had crossed the streets and that had been in town. There were plenty of other routes, less convenient but still available.

Sam smiled at him.

“No, I'd not heard that.” Steve peered at the rest of his staff. “Had you?” he turned the question on to his chauffeur.

Harold Hogan twitched a smile at him.

“That’s what they’re saying, Captain. I could drive you two tonight but it would be hard going. I wouldn't do it on your own.” He nodded at his wife.

“Ginn says you weren't feeling well.”

“I'm fine.” He couldn't make out if Virginia, because this was all clearly by her hand, wanted them to stay the night out of concern or something else. Either way the three of them had made up their minds it seemed. Just when you thought you were the master of your own house.

“Where is Herr Stark?” Steve asked, suddenly aware of the tutor’s absence.

“With the children,” Virginia chimed. “In the dining room”

Damn it, dinner, of course. He’d told the monk he wouldn't need to watch them at diner and yet he seemed to have forgotten all about it. How long must the children have been waiting?

He rubbed at his face again.  Hadn’t Virginia promised to wake him? Why had she let him sleep so long?!

“Thank you, Frau Hogan. I'll...I think I'll join them. Herr Wiess.”

Sam perked up. “Yes, sir?”

Steve tilted his head towards the door.  “A word, please.”

Sam followed him out, closing the door behind him. Steve pressed his lips together, heading for the dining room, firmly trying to stomp his irritation.

“We should leave. Now. As soon as possible.” He said, slowing his pace when Sam jogged to keep up.

“There’s no reason to leave tonight-”

“There’s every reason.” Steve bit out. More reason than Sam could possibly know. “We’ve no idea when they’ll close the borders.”

“Likely not tomorrow, and you're in no condition to drive me anywhere at night.”

Sam hesitated, aware that he'd overstepped an invisible line. It was a line neither of them normally bothered to toe but normal wasn't the usual so much anymore.   

“You've been away for a while,” Sam began again, gentler. “I just thought you'd like to spend more time with the children.”

Emotional blackmail. And a weak attempt at that. Sam was usually in better form. But maybe he’d thought too soon because a moment later Sam was making him feel about two inches tall with an innocent expression on his face.

“Maria had a surprise for you. She helped me tend the bed of enzian I planted a few years ago. I'm just afraid they won't keep until your return. We never know how long you’ll be gone.”

Sam knew damn well what those flowers meant. Sam had put in the little blue flowers the same year that Sara had been born and that Peggy had died. She’d insisted on them, had sat amongst them for precious moments of quiet before the fever had taken her strength.

Steve had not even thought about them, not bothering to frequent the garden much over the past few years. Had Maria remembered or had Sam planted the idea in her head? It was anyone's guess.

Steve looked away. He didn't like leaving the letter around where anyone could find it but he did not wish to be unfair to the children either. He had only just returned after all.

“It'll be fine, Sir. I’m just a poor man, not a wanted one.” Sam laid a hand on his shoulder briefly, too aware of the houses numerous eyes. He was right. He wasn’t a wanted man. No not yet.

Steve sighed heavily trying to abate the sense of dread that was a consent in his gut. He suspected it wouldn't ease until he saw Sam on the train. The only other option was for Herr Hogan to take him.

Which meant there weren't options.

He would not put Harold's life in such danger as that. The sooner he got the incriminating letter out of the house the better. He could practically feel the stolen letter burning a hole in the ceiling floorboards.

“Alright, go on then. Eat, drink yourself into oblivion” Steve stopped him with a hand on his shoulder “but first thing in the morning, be ready.”

Sam grinned at him.

“Of course! It'll give me a chance to say goodbye to the dwarves. Willamina baked a few berliners for me to take with, I thought I might give them some, bribe them into writing me.”

That got Steve’s attention.

Clearly Frau Reiner had not taken no for an answer. He'd agreed to the missions and correspondence but he'd drawn the line when Frau Reiner had suggested coded messages through his children. He'd shot the notion down immediately. His children were not to be used for the resistance effort. Ever.

Even if it was only their names signed on coded letters to their favorite gardener. There may come a time when their names would be all they had left.

Steve stepped forward, “Whatever you've discussed with Reiner about my children, I am their father and I've s-

Sam's eyes widening a fraction and he held up his hands in defense.

“No! That's not it, she hasn't- not yet, Stefen. She’d go directly to you first.”

She would, after she'd decided to do it. Somehow the thought held little comfort. 

Sam reached out again and patted Steve's shoulder as he moved to go back to his dinner.

“You really need to get some rest,” he advised and then with a cheeky grin he added, “You look like you've been hit by a truck.”

Steve chuckled softly “Almost. It missed.”

“You sure about that?” Sam called over his shoulder.

He watched Sam's retreating back.  After tomorrow he wasn't sure he'd ever see the man again. He hoped...well he hoped a lot of things and there was only so much of it to go around.

 

~*~~*~

 

Seven pairs of eyes stared at him as he took his seat at the head of the table. Seven because Herr Stark was very busily ignoring him.

That was just fine with Steve. He nodded a greeting at the children and sat. It had been at least a two weeks since he had last ate with them. It wasn't purposeful, when he was away he was away and when he was home he was in and out at all manners of the hour.

He unfolded his napkin and looked out at the children. He was startled to still find eyes on him. It had been so long since he'd seen another face at the opposite end of the table.

Even eating with the children had grown into an exercise, a drill of sorts. After Peggy had died Steve had forced himself to eat. He'd mechanically lifted fork to mouth, rarely ever tasting the food and somehow it had become a regular thing. He was so very aware he was alone when he sat down. He'd look over the expanse of table and at the other end would be a void, a space left and never filled. Steve had always been keen on seeing yourself for who you were if you could help it but the empty spaces left by his wife proved overwhelming at times.

“How was your nap?”

Steve glanced up, an apology on his lips before he realized to whom he was speaking to.

Antony Stark gazed back at him. His tutor, or rightly, his children's tutor, his employee and decidedly NOT Peggy waited for his answer.

He clenched his jaw, suddenly irritated with himself and unfolded his napkin, snapping it with more force than was strictly necessary.

“The children know to eat.”

Herr Stark glanced at the two closest to him, Natacha and Péter, and hummed.

“I'm sure they do.”

Steve paused, his spoon halfway to his mouth. The smell of cucumber wafting steam onto his face.

“Why don't you eat, Herr Stark? I'm sure you'll find it filling,” he snapped before he could stop himself.

The silverware clicked loudly as Herr Stark adjusted his food meticulously. As if he weren't going to mess it all up again by eating. When he dragged his fork over the surface of his plate, the china squealing in protest, Steve lost his carefully constructed patience.

“Maria.” Her head snapped up and she blinked at him, halfway through a piece of soggy bread, startled.

He cleared his throat, a little startled by the force of his aggression and took a breath, trying to settle his frayed nerves before starting again.

“Samuel said you had gathered something from the garden?”

She nodded hesitantly, “Two days ago.” She murmured “but you weren't home like you said you’d be.”

“I’m home now, you could show me after dinner if you like.”

Steve watched her hesitate before she nodded again, shoving another piece of soggy bread into her mouth.

When had she learned to dip her bread? It was a habit Steve himself had had to break long before she was born. Good table manners helped make the difference from one class to the next and, in his opinion, was one of the only differences.

He caught the monk’s eye as he looked up from Maria. The man was watching them curiously, dipping his own bread into his soup.

She was imitating him. Already? Whether it was out of admiration or simple curiosity Steve wasn't sure but for some reason the thought didn’t sit well with him. It only served to drive home how easily impressionable children really were.

He took another sip of his soup, not really tasting it.

Maria was losing control of her roll. It slipped, falling apart in her fingers and smearing her face as she tried to munch at it.

Steve caught her wrist without thinking and she jerked, her whole body tensing. It wasn't so much a flinch as it was caution, but cation for what? She tensed as if she expected...reprimand? Aggression? Violence?

The rest of the children were watching them, exchanging small looks of worry.

Was she afraid of him? 

His mind suddenly pulled an image of two children in the garden, playing with sticks. 

He felt sick.

 “Captain?” Steve blinked and released Maria’s wrist instead of helping her like he'd intended, his hand falling with a thud onto the table unsure of what to do. He felt suddenly like a brute, too large for the table. Shame pooled in his gut and flooded his face.

“Forgive me, Captain” Herr Stark said into the strained silence, “you never answered.”

What?

Steve met his eyes, distracted.

“Excuse me?”

“How was your rest?” Herr Stark repeated, drawing the words out as if he were speaking to a child. Herr Stark trailed off watching Steve with something curious in his eyes. Something like a challenge.

Steve was sure he was going to break something in his jaw. He would not be made to look a fool at his own table. Blue eyes met brown and Steve took a long sip of his drink. He refused to be a child about this.

“It was adequate,” he lied.

Stark raised his glass at him, that curious look intensifying.

They ate in tense silence. Péter coughing every so often and looking up to catch Steve’s eye. Steve ignored him, any trace of his mild mood slipping away with each minute.

“I remember this little boy in Pola, that's where I grew up, who died of a spider bite.” Herr Stark suddenly said into the silence and Steve paused.

What was this?

“Emile Costa, I think his names was, school playmate for years, fell down dead at the start of fall term.”

Natacha stilled, eyes going wide as she glanced worriedly at Péter who shifted uncomfortably.

“It was a quick death but brutal: swollen throat, bug eyes, red patches, the whole picture.”

Steve watched as the monk broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in his soup. Tiny flecks pooled on his plate slowly edging toward the table cloth. 

Steve eyed the droplets, waiting for them to spill. His stomach cramped at the vivid memory of swollen bodies.

“The kid just dropped right in front of me. Convulsing, rigid with the shakes, he was so swollen you could have burst him like a tick-”

“Herr Stark, is it your goal to put us all off our food?! I don't think I've ever quite been subjected to this particular type of indigestion.”

The monk smiled at him and Steve resisted the urge to bare his teeth.  Artur glanced at Steve uncertainly before asking in a quiet voice, “Did he die?”

“Yep, it was a painfully terrible death. Spider bites are not to be trifled with,” Herr Stark warned cheerily as he punctuated his point with his spoon. Artur's lower lip began to tremble and he looked back and forth between Steve and the monk, his eyes wide.

“Could you have died?”

“Artur, eat your food.” Steve commanded softly. “And don't encourage him,” he added under his breath bitterly. Rather than listen Artur sank further into his seat glancing back and forth between his siblings, one hand straying to his mouth with anxiousness.

“No," the monk prattled on. "I spent years building up an intolerance to venom, monk training is very vigorous and all, I'll be fine. I'm just worried that they might have spread about the house.”

Maria gasped and Natacha glowered and leaned over to whisper in James’ ear. What the devil was going on at his table?

“Herr Stark.” The monk looked up, his gaze slow this time, feigned innocence replaced by something more frigid. Steve had known his share of bullies and he'd be damned if he'd be backed into a corner by a mad monk and his looks. “I think we've had quite enough stories to curdle our stomachs for one night.”

How dinner had become a firing zone he wasn't sure, but let that be the end of it. He resumed eating. The quicker he finished the better, he wasn't sure how much more of Herr Stark's prattle he could-

“-There’s a brother back at the abbey, brother Filip.-”

My god what did it take to shut the man up! Was it attention the monk wanted? This game was all on purpose, that was clear but what end the man had in mind Steve couldn't begin to fathom. Hadn't he given the man a job? It was not an easy thing to come by nowadays.

He was beginning to see why the Father Abbot had so readily rid himself of the man.

“Every time I'd make a mistake he'd be there with a bucket and brush and the longest hallways always left filthy just for me. I spent most of my twenties on my knees.”

Steve glared at him. His headache pulsing threateningly and sucked in a breath. Perhaps this was some attempt to guilt him into apologizing for being late to dinner of all things-

“I must have scrubbed every hallway in the monastery by my eighth week there.”

“I'm surprised it took so long,” Steve grumbled. He looked up just in time to catch Maria’s worried glance and he tried to gentle his expression.

“I felt like such an outsider, so alone while this man I barely knew droned on about forgiveness and piety.” The monk continued as if Steve hadn't spoken. “It was several years before I understood what he meant by it.”

“Is there a point, Herr Stark, or is this just carefully designed small talk to put us to sleep?”

One of Stark’s eyebrow curved over his highly unamused expression. Next to him Maria ducked her head, her face going red. All of the children were silent.

“No, _mein_ Captain,” the man’s lips turned up in a stale smile. Steve bristled, “It only occurred to me that, there was a reason for brother Filip’s pence. I learned that forgiveness is a luxury, sometimes hard earned. Brother Filip would always give it to me if I worked for it.”

This was, surprisingly, directed at the children.

Natacha froze, her gaze suddenly fixed on Stark. Péter too, had lifted his eyes from their steady fixation on his food.

They’d done something, Stefen realized. His children were doing their best impressions of rocks, all while turning various shades of pink.

So, the game had not been about him at all.

Steve bit into his bread, staunchly ignoring the man. His stomach turning, whether from his injuries or from what felt strangely like guilt.

“Is there something you’d like to share, Herr Stark?”

Next to the man Steve’s two eldest stiffened, shooting each other nervous glances.

The monk took a sip of his soup in a strangely dainty manner for someone of his energy and answered, “Oh, no Captain, it’s meant to be a secret between the children and I.”

Each one of them seemed to deflate, tension ebbing out of them. Natacha blinked at her tutor, eyes wide in surprise and Steve hummed, irritated. All the fancy pony tricks and the man refused to come right out and say it? Fine then, the children would not be punished and he’d just have to suffer whatever else they came up with to torment him. Spiders indeed!

 “Yes, then why don't you keep it a secret and let us eat.”

He couldn't discern the look the monk gave him in response to that. To others it might have been a mild stare but there was something just behind it, swimming in the depths. Steve just couldn't decide if it was a dangerous or not.

Just when he thought he’d managed the impossible and shut the man up, Stark took a breath and turned to Péter.  

“What about you? You like arachnids. You remind me of one of the brothers, I think you’d like him, brother Banner-”

“I like ara candids!” Artur broke in excitedly only casting his father a wary glance out of the corner of his eye. Steve swallowed more soup.

Péter frowned at his littlest brother.

 “You don't even know what that is! You can’t even say it right.”

Artur scrunched up his face and leaned into the table to better capture Herr Stark’s attention.

“I do! They're bugs with…” He trailed off, his face going red with frustration. Next to him James sniggered. Artur whined round standing up to holler across the table at his brother, “I know what they are, James!”

“Sit. Down.” Steve bit out. The last of his patience snapping.

Artur’s face turned redder but he slowly slid back into his chair, jaw clenched, as frustrated tears welled in his eyes.

Steve looked down at his soup trying to judge how much more of it he would have to swallow to appease his overbearing head of house before he could call the meal to end. He stirred it, watching the cream smother the tiny bites of cucumber and slowly loaded his spoon trying to ignore the way his stomach rolled in protest as he swallowed.  

For the first time Steve was thankful as the monk continued to chat away to the children and left Steve to his thoughts.

He was lost to them when his butler's voice brought him back to the moment.

Steve blinked at the telegram held under his nose, taken aback by its sudden appearance.

“A telegram for you, sir.”

This late?

Steve wiped his mouth with his napkin and took it the ever present unease in his gut rising to the forefront.

 

**1124 East June 3 38**

**Captain Stefen Rogers**

_Shame on you, you imbecile. Stay home. I'll see you in the morning._

_Wiener Staatsoper grand hotel._

**James B Bakhuizen**

 

Steve couldn’t help his slow grin, Bucky’s thinly veiled warning aside.

So Virginia had gone behind his back and contacted Bucky before Steve could get around to it. From the looks of the postdate it had to have been a few hours after he’d returned home. He couldn't decide if he was annoyed or impressed. Judging by his insults and thinly veiled orders she must have told him about the assault, something Steve had decidedly left out of their phone call.

“Ah, Hammer, who delivered the telegram?” Péter asked, more words than Steve had heard him say since diner had started.

Hammer paused at the door. “The young Osborne, sir.”

Péter’s eyes darted to the window and he sat up straighter.

“If there’s anything else you might need, Sir-”Hammer began.

“Father, may I be excused?” Péter interrupted.Steve eyed him, for the rudeness, but in truth he couldn’t blame the boy for making his escape. He only wished he could do the same.

“Yes, that’ll be all.”  Steve waved Hammer away distractedly, finishing the telegram and stopping Péter, who had half sprang out of his seat, with a look. “Just a moment Péter.”

“What's it say, father?’ Natacha was peering at him, sitting up in her chair in hopes of reading the letter upside down, or he assumed that's what she was doing, he wasn’t sure. Girls that age had all sorts of strange practices.

“Is it from uncle Bucky? James asked, the other six lighting up at the mention of their favorite and only uncle.

“I’m leaving for Vienna in the morning-” Steve was not prepared for the uproar from his children.

“No, Father, really!” James whined.

“You just got back!” Chimed Ian, louder than he’d been all evening.

Maria leaned forward in her chair and tugged at his sleeve.

“I don’t want you to leave, Father.” She whispered.

Steve gently pulled his arm free, silencing them all with a stern look.  He didn’t wish to leave them, but necessity demanded it and it wasn’t going to be any easier if everyone carried on like the world was ending.

“How long will you be gone this time?” Ian asked quietly, his voice carrying a hint of resignation.

“It won't be that long.” Steve leaned forward but directed his answer to Artur who was pouting into his plate. “A week at most.”

Natacha eyed him from across the table suspiciously. “Are you going to visit baroness Schrader again?”

She yelped and then glared at James mouthing ‘don’t kick me unless you want to be kicked back!’

“Why don’t we ever get to meet her?” James grumbled.

“Why would she want to meet you?” Péter snapped, his gaze falling distractedly on the window again.

He stilled however when he felt Steve's glare, his shoulders hunching. Péter had begun as of late to test Steve, speaking out of turn in ways he’d never been allowed, and sinking into moodiness at the drop of a hat. Even his younger brothers had noticed. Once, one stern look from either of his parents had been enough to make the child behave but now he refused to turn around without a verbal command from Steve.

“Péter.”

His son looked at him, his expression black, his gaze holding Steve's for the first time that evening.

“Sorry, father.”

Péter could have just said a healthy 'fuck you' and saved them all time. But as he was Peggy's son as well as Steve's he wisely kept his mouth shut and his gaze blank.

“Do you want to be excused?” It wasn't a question. Steve didn't tolerate bullying among his children and Péter knew that. A hard bit of morality to install when the outside world had decided to sanction it.

Péter clenched his jaw and he might have been the picture of defiance if it weren't for the way his eyes darted back to the window and he squirmed in his seat. 

 “Yes, Sir?” An odd answer, but perhaps some time alone with his thoughts would be in Péter’s best interest.

Steve jerked his head towards the door and instantly regretted it when pain flared and his vision swam. He steadied himself and then turned to back to Natacha, ignoring his oldest as Péter slunk from the room.

“As a matter of fact, Natacha. I’m not meeting the baroness. I’m taking Wiess to the Vienna station in the morning. I'll be back by-” 

A wrong inhale of breath reminded him it might be more than a week. If Schmidt felt his message hadn't gotten across Steve might very well be gone for much longer as it would take longer to be rid of the letter safely. But no, the General’s reach had not yet extended as far as snatching people off the streets.

“And you're bringing uncle Bucky back and not the baroness?” Natacha questioned with that same air of suspicion.

Yes, why wouldn't he?

He rested a hand over his bruised ribs, the reality of his situation sitting like a rock on his chest. He drew in a careful breath steady in the knowledge of his mission. They would just have to accept it.

“I'm off to Vienna in the morning and that's the way it is.” As he said it he caught Stark’s gaze from across the table.

The man was frowning at him.

“That's that,” the monk echoed, his tone just shy of mocking.

Steve stood and left the room, dislodging himself from the company of what was possibly the most irritating man in all of Austria.

Ironically the same man he was entrusting his whole world too.

So yes, he supposed it was. That was that.

 

~*~

Péter felt his new tutor’s eyes on his back as he got up and quickly departed from the table. Herr Stark’s watchful gaze reminded him a bit of Frauline Glass, whose furtive eyes had seemed never to miss a moment, unless of course they were too busy simpering at Péter’s father to notice much of anything. Women could be awefully silly when it came to that sort of thing. It was one of the reasons why Natacha always said that if it weren’t for Frau Hogan she’d be terrified of growing up.

Péter made it out of the dining room and out through the kitchen door without much notice – minus a wink from Sam the gardener as he scurried past him and the chatting cook- and breathed a sigh of relief once he’d slipped out into the muggy night air. Though wind from the lake brought cooler temperatures, and the onset of burgeoning clouds, the summer night was warm as Péter hurried through the gardens toward the spot by the lake where he knew Harry would be waiting.

Henry Reynold Osborne (Harry to his friends) had been Péter’s playmate since they were small boys. Their mothers had been good friends, but their fathers less so. Harry’s father Norman was an important business man from old money who had married into even older piles of it. Norman Osborne was the sort who looked down on people born into the wrong class. Péter had once overheard Harry’s father remarking to a fellow party guest that it was a shame for high born ladies to serve as nurses, because then just about any low born soldier could get ideas. He’d known Harry’s father was talking about his parents and the fact that Péter’s father had been born on a farm to nobody of account. It had made him angry and Péter had shouted at him and kicked him in front of everybody. Mother had been embarrassed and had sent him away without supper when he refused to apologize, but later when he’d told them what Harry’s father had said she’d told him that people like Norman Osborne were fools who didn’t know any better, but that he still had to mind his elders.

Father had surprised everyone with ice cream the following night, but the Osbornes hadn’t come to many parties after that. When mother had died father never seemed to get around to arranging any visits for the boys either. Not that Péter minded terribly. He didn’t like going over to the Osbornes alone (Harry’s mother sighed at him like he was an orphan and his father avoided him like he smelled bad) but he had missed Harry, and had hoped for the chance to see him once school started up again… only that had never happened either.

Harry was waiting just under their favorite climbing tree, just as he always did when he delivered a telegram to the house although this was the first time Péter had seen him in the uniform of Hitler’s Youth. His slicked hair and the crisp brown shirt of the _Hitler-Jugend_ almost made him look like a stranger but the lazy smirk and the indolent wave he tossed Péter’s way when he turned and noticed him was all Harry. Péter’s face broke into a grin as he ran to meet his friend. Harry’s grin was equally big as they hugged, wrestling for a moment as they tried to mess up the others hair.

“That took you ages! What happened?” Harry gripped, finally letting him go and Péter shrugged. Harry glanced over him with something like worry, gripping his shoulders as he asked after his heart. Irritated, Péter shrugged him off.

“My father is home,” he reminded him and Harry nodded glancing back at the house, moonlight reflecting off the lake bathing his pale cheeks.

“Ah, I see. He’s not still mad about that comment my father made is he?” Harry asked, like he knew the answer already but wanted Péter to know how ludicrous he thought it was. Péter gritted his teeth and Harry smirked, reaching in his pocket for a lighter and a beaten packet of smokes. “Your father is a stubborn man, Péter.”

“Your father insulted him in his own home!” Péter insisted, though his eyes remained on the small white box in Harry’s hand. He was not the only boy their age to take up the habit but Péter’s father would have his head if he were to even think it.

“Things are changing Péter,” Harry warned with a dire tone as he lit the cigarette between his teeth. “This is not the time for the captain to hang on to petty grudges.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d know, if the captain would allow you to return to school. A tutor is all well and good for a child, but for a young man it’s practically shameful.”

“The doctor said that public education would be too stressful on my heart,” Péter mumbled in reply.

“That’s shit Péter,” Harry cursed, releasing a long stream of acrid smoke with a glare. Péter was discomforted by the smell, the way the buttons on Harry’s shirt gleamed in the moonlight, the heat of aggression in his eyes that made him look far older than his fifteen years. “We’ve played together since we could walk. How many times have you fallen from this very tree?” Harry nodded aggressively at the branches hanging above them and Péter flinched.

“I have a condition Harry! You don’t think I’d like to go to school, to join you and the other boys?” Péter swallowed thickly. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Harry, even though every time they met Harry looked older and wiser and brought more stories. It seemed to Péter that Harry had grown up and he hadn’t. Perhaps it was just that. Harry had left childhood behind for something he felt was worthwhile and he had left Péter behind. It was not a feeling he enjoyed and he did not know why his father insisted on it being that way.

“Listen,” Harry began again, gentler this time. “I came to tell you that I’ve been selected for the school in Vienna.”

Péter’s heart thudded in alarm.

“Hitler’s school?” he asked and Harry nodded.  “But I thought they were only for Germans?”

“We are Germans now Péter.”

“My father disagrees.”

“The Captain should be careful who he disagrees with.” Harry warned as thunder rumbled distantly. “Austria was just the beginning, Pete. The Führer has promised to unite all German peoples and he won’t be stopped. They are going to train us. They’ve promised the best of us positions in the SS.”

Péter could not describe what it was he felt in that moment. Apprehension, because no matter what his father seemed to think he was not a child and he understood more about war than the captain probably wanted him to. How could he not with such a committed soldier for a father? His father did not like Hitler or the Nazis and he had trouble hiding that fact, though he never deigned to share his reasoning with his children. Stefen Rogers rarely deigned to share a meal with them let alone his politics.

“My father says the Führer is naive to think so many countries will just hand over their land. He says there will be war,” Péter warned but Harry only scoffed.

“Then there will be war. I’m not afraid of it. Are you? Péter you’ve always had more courage than anyone else I know. We’re not boys anymore. Are you really going to let your father make a coward out of you?”

Shame, hot and stinging, twisted in Péter’s belly as Harry’s words taunted him. He was sick. His father said it. The doctor said it, but Péter had never felt ill, or at least any iller than he ought to after that bout of summer fever the year before. He could still run as fast as any of his siblings, still lift more than Natacha and she was stubborn as a mule and refused to give up a contest until absolutely forced to.

He was sick but did not feel it and no amount of arguing with his father ever changed his mind about sending him to one of Hilter’s schools. Privately Péter thought that was because his father didn’t want to know the doctor was wrong. He wanted Péter to be labeled an invalid so that he wouldn’t have to fight, even if he himself was going to have to. Because his father didn’t believe Péter could be as brave or as strong as he was.

To Péter’s horror he felt the prick of tears and he ducked his head to hide the sight of them. But Harry must have seen because he sighed and pulled Péter in tight to his chest and clucked his tongue at him.

“Ah Péter it’s alright. Your dad he’s just… he’s just trying to protect you. He sees these skinny arms and thinks ‘my baby, a soldier?’ No way!” Harry shook one of the skinny arms in question and Péter reluctantly smiled, a chuckle bubbling out of him. “But we are men now, and the Reichland needs us. We are her sons and if we won’t fight for her honor, who will?”

Péter didn’t know. Thankfully he was saved from having to respond by a sudden clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the sudden down pour that followed. Harry cursed, but grabbed Péter’s hand with a grin, and together both boys ran for the shelter of the gazebo.

~*~*~

_I met Captain Rogers and the children today, as scheduled, though I was surprised at Captain Roger’s condition. To my eye he appeared sickly and out of sorts. I suspect he was inebriated though he did not previously strike me as a man of excess._

Tony paused in his letter to the Abbott as another bout of thunder rattled the windows on either side of the bed. He eyed the storm shutters, wondering if he shouldn’t lock them if the storm was going to get much worse. Another clap of thunder followed by a sudden gust of wind that sent the shutters banging against the side of the house decided him.

He shoved the curtains aside and slid open the windows leaning out into the downpour just enough grasp the swinging shutters and pulled them closed. He did the same to the second window on the other side of the room, noting the poor condition of the lock. An easy fix with the right tools, but for now… Tony made do with a roll of twine fetched from his drawer. Shutters closed and the storm muted once more Tony returned to his task.

_He is definitely a surly man of a stubborn temperament the likes of which you would not believe, Farkas, so if it was your intent to punish me by delegating me to this task you can rest easy in the knowledge of my suffering. He appears to be often away, which will provide some relief, though I pity his children who stare after him like puppies with longing gazes._

Tony paused with a scowl, thinking back to dinner. The miserable air that surrounded the table, the children flinching away from their father with fear of rebuke at every turn. It reminded him too much of his own childhood, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. Perhaps it had led him to be more snappish with the captain than was wise. But they were only children and they only wanted their father’s attention. Tony could handle spiders in his bed (he was thankful to have avoided a headless chicken) and any number of petty tricks or pranks, because he understood that it was just their way of pleading for notice. Or perhaps he was projecting. That was possible and even likely given his bad track record. Still he could not help but feel in this instance he was right. The children did not even have play clothes! When he’d asked Pepper (who did not seem to like at all that he’d taken to calling her such) about it while she’d overseen the final touches to the room before leaving him for the night she’d laughed and told him that the Rogers children did not play. They marched! Oh if Tony had a schilling for every time he’d heard what Stark men were supposed to do in lieu of childish things…

_The Captain received a telegram this evening from an old friend. A James Bakhuizen whom the children referred joyously to as ‘Uncle Bucky’. He promptly announced that he would be leaving, yet again, for Vienna and that he would be taking their gardener, a Herr Wiess, with him. Rogers has an unusual choice in gardeners and I suspect he now wishes to rid himself of a complication. The Housekeeper Frau Hogan seems certain that Rogers has become romantically involved with Charlotte Schrader, a Baroness in Vienna. She’s a cousin of his late wife, which if one were asking me is dipping one too many times into the same inkwell but Frau Hogan seems optimistic for the union…_

Sudden banging jolted Tony’s attention away from the letter he was composing and back to the window. He thought for a moment that the shutters on the window on the left side of the bed had perhaps sprung open again but a quick glance assured him that his handiwork was holding fast. It took him a moment to realize that the sound he heard over thunder and rain was knocking, and that there was a child’s voice calling thinly from the other side of the window.

“Herr Stark? Her Stark are you there?”

Tony hurried to the window aghast at the thought of one of the captain’s children dangling from his window in the middle of a thunderstorm. By the time he’d opened it and undone the twine around the shutters latch he was practically shaking, and his nerves were only further strained when opening the damn things nearly knocked the boy off his precarious perch.

His midnight visitor was Péter Rogers, still in his dinner clothes and soaked to the bone.

“Péter? What the devil are you doing?!” Tony demanded as he hauled the boy inside, ignoring the cold and wet that seeped through his nightclothes.

“I was walking in the garden and got caught in the storm,” the boy explained through chattering teeth. His skinny frame was practically vibrating with chills and Tony immediately thought of his heart condition.

“And you climbed up here?!” he demanded disbelievingly as he rushed into the bathroom to collect towels for the shivering adolescent. Boy Péter might not have looked like much what with the skinniness and the spectacles but the child must have had incredible strength and dexterity to manage that in a rainstorm. He might even have rivaled Clinton in climbing ability, though Tony almost didn’t dare to think it. His heart was palpating enough as it was.

“Yep,” Péter answered as Tony returned. He shook his head like a dog and sent water flying every which way. He winced apologetically when he realized how he’d sprayed Tony and shyly reached for the offered towel. “It’s how we played tricks on the governesses. Artur can make it with a whole jar of beetles in his hand.”

“Or spiders?” Tony guessed with an arched brow, thinking back to the surprise that had greeted him when he’d first arrived. Péter’s smile fell and the boy nodded begrudgingly.

“Ah… sorry about that. We didn’t know they could be poisonous.” The boy’s face shifted into a hard expression, his brown eyes glinting with challenge as he asked, “You aren’t going to tell Father about them are you?”

“That depends,” Tony led.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re going to be honest with me. Were you alone during this late night walk in the garden?”

Tony wasn’t stupid. Getting caught in the rain was one thing but it had been raining for some time since supper and if Péter had been outside all this time it had to be for a purpose. Péter looked suddenly nervous, his eyes darting about in search of an escape route and now Tony was sure of it.  Rogers’ eldest boy had been meeting someone, but given his age and that rising flush in his cheeks Tony could hazard a guess or two that didn’t involve political intrigue.

“Is she pretty?” He asked with a waggle of eyebrows and Péter looked scandalized.

“What? No. It wasn’t… I don’t…” the boy fumbled. “It was Harry! He’s my friend, but Father doesn’t like him. Please Herr Stark he must’nt know!”

“Look, I have no problem with Harry. I’m sure he’s a nice kid. But let’s limit the climbing up the side of the house in the dead of night and trying to give Tony heart attacks bit in the future, yeah? Do that for me and we’ll just consider this whole thing a secret between you and me.”

“Do you really mean that?” Péter looked wary, but Tony could hear the hope behind it.

“Really.”

Frankly Tony didn’t give a rat’s ass what friends Péter wanted to sneak out to meet so long as he didn’t kill himself falling off the side of the house.

Slowly Péter nodded his agreement and the two stared silently at one another other – Péter looking like he wanted to say something more and Tony not knowing what to say next – until Tony decided he’d had enough of _that_ and got busy getting some dry clothes for the poor child.

“Here go get dry, change into these, and I’ll see about getting your clothes cleaned tomorrow before anyone notices,” he offered, thrusting a folded night shirt Péter’s way. The boy accepted the offering wordlessly and headed for the bathroom and Tony breathed a sigh of relief. But just as the child reached the door Péter paused, turning back to Tony.

“Herr Stark?” Péter called hesitantly, cheeks once again flushing a faint pink. “Thank you.”

Tony took a slow breath, not sure what the feeling constricting his chest was. He nodded in response and Péter ducked into the bathroom, shutting the door with a snap, as eager to escape the awkward situation as he was. Well, Tony thought to himself as he set about making the bed, all thoughts of finishing his letter to Farkas banished until morning. His first night down and it could have been worse. Péter could have slipped and splattered on the ground below. That would have been a rather unfortunate end to this misadventure. Instead he’d hopefully wrangled some of the boy’s trust and their future dealings would be easier.

Another crack of thunder seemed to shake the house and the curtains billowed, rain flying into the room as the wind shifted. Belatedly Tony rushed to close the window they’d left gaping open. Finished, he grumbled under his breath something about leaving monkeys behind at the abbey as he turned away from it, only to yelp in alarm at the unexpected sight of another body in the room.

Maria Rogers stood in the middle of the room, shivering in her pale blue night gown with a stuffed toy clutched desperately to her chest.

“God in heaven.” Tony let out a relieved breath as his heart slowed and he forced something that wasn’t a scowl onto his face as not to scare the already clearly terrified child and asked, “Maria, honey, are you scared?”

The child was nodding emphatically as another round of thunder boomed. Tony was just extending a hand toward her when she squealed with fright and dove toward him like a missile. Quite without knowing how Tony found himself with an arm full of terrified little girl, Maria’s slight form trembling against his as she buried her face against him. Tony had looked up to call Péter for help, hoping the child’s brother would have some idea of how to handle this, when he noticed that now Natacha was standing in the doorway with little Sara in her arms. The toddler’s face was red and blotchy with tears.

“The girls don’t like thunder and Frau Hogan has retired for the night,” Natacha offered by way of explanation as the blond cherub in her arms reached for Tony and he sighed.

“Well then, I guess you had better stick with me.”

It occurred to him as Natacha helped him get the little ones settled with Maria on one side of Tony and Sara on the other, and then primly made a place for herself on the other side of Sara, that perhaps it wouldn’t go over well if Rogers were to discover his daughters cozied up in their very male tutors bed, but one look at Maria and Sara’s terrified faces and he just didn’t have the heart to send them away. Natacha was more subtle, but Tony noticed the way her shoulders tensed with every peel of thunder.

So let Captain Rogers have a problem with it if he was going to. Tony had a thing or two to say to him about leaving his children alone at night in a house this big with no one to care for them. He’d wonder what kind of heartless ogre could ignore the fear on their faces, but he doubted Rogers had ever stuck around long enough after supper to witness them.

“Hey,” Tony tugged playfully on Maria’s sleeve, pulling the child’s focus to him. “Don’t just lay there like a sack of potatoes. Make room for your brothers.”

The girl giggled even as she scooted. Natacha arched a red brow at him.

“They’re boys. They’re not scared.”

She said it like a dare, and even though she probably knew them better Tony knew his luck and would bet on it any day. As if on cue another round of thunder rolled in and a parade of footstep scurried down the hall, Ian with James and Artur in tow came all but hurtling through the doorway.

“I win that bet I think.” Tony quipped. “What do I win?” She gave him a look that seemed to answer ‘a kick in the groin’.

“Isn’t gambling a sin?” she questioned pointedly and he grinned. He turned to the three silent boys in the doorway who were doing their best to look as if they hadn’t come running into the room with their tails between their legs and unsure of what to do next. Tony waved them over.

“Ah see, didn’t I tell you girls the boys would be along to protect us? Boys? Didn’t anyone teach you it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?”

Their shoulders sagging in relief the three of them rushed to the bed, climbing in beside their sisters as the bathroom door opened and Péter reappeared. He looked surprised to see the lot of them there but pleased as Tony waved him over to join them.

Why the hell was his bed this huge? He wondered as everyone got resettled. Rather an opulent accessory for a guest bedroom. What on earth had Rogers’ previous governesses gotten up to? Then again, he couldn’t help but remember the much mentioned Frauline Glass and her morning visits to the Captain’s room. Should he include that in his letters to Farkas? Dear Father Superior, Captain Rogers is a drunken brute who spends his time neglecting his children and bedding the help. No sign of military secrets under the bed but will keep looking. How are Brother Banner’s vegetables coming in this season?

He was disrupted from his rambling thoughts by a particularly boisterous boom of thunder. Maria dove beneath the covers and Sara’s face scrunched up with the threat of more tears as her hands flew to cover her ears.

“Aw honey, its okay,” he tried to sooth as the little girls face continued to crumble. She let him wrap his arms around her though and even lowered her hands as she glared up at the ceiling in reprimand.

“s’ too Loud!” she berated before sticking her hand in her mouth to suck, fierce scowl still in place.

“It’s just the sky making noise Sara,” Ian explained though he looked uncertain and Artur was attempting to weasel under his legs to join Maria.

“He’s right you know,” Tony assured them. “It’s just the sky making noise at us. Some people are like that. All hot air. You know what you have to do though, when someone speaks to you that way?”

“Bite them?” piped Artur’s sweet voice from beneath the covers and Tony almost laughed.

“You boom right back.” At the seven (minus two lumps under the covers) pairs of eyes that met him with disbelief he nodded, getting up on his knees. “It’s easy. We can be way louder than a little thunder. Happier about it too, watch.”

Tony leaned back and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air, and then released it in a long practiced yodel. He felt a little silly at first but it had the desired effect as one by one the children sat up, their interest piqued, looking to one another for permission to join in. The captain had stated for a fact that yelling was not allowed in the household and he was banking on the children’s natural bent towards the mischievous to be on his side here.

“How do you do that?” Péter asked and Tony turned to find him leaning close, expression eager.

“Yodel? It’s like singing, only really loudly.” He explained showing them again.

“Can I try? Teach me!” Artur asked, climbing over James to plop himself in Tony’s lap.

“You take a breath, find your note and it’s just yodel-lay-ee-oo. See? There’s even a song I know. We’ll sing it together. We’ll be so loud no one will even remember the thunder.”

“How does it go?” Ian asked somewhat hesitantly, eyeing Natacha’s doubtful expression. She made it clear she thought he was a lunatic but said nothing. Tony had never let that sort of thing stop him before. Fully committed he went forward with gusto, standing up on the bed as he began to sing, because if you were going to do something you might as well do it with a bang.

“High on a hill lived a lonely goatherd lay -ee-odllay-ee-odllay-ee-hoo.”

The little ones pealed with laughter as Tony danced about, singing and yodeling, shrieking with laughter as they avoided his feet. Tony sang about the folks in a remote town hearing the song of the goatherd and jumped off the bed with another yodel. He was gratified when James and Artur scrambled after him with jubilant whoops and did their best approximation of a yodel. He’d have to work on their form, but both of them definitely had fine lungs. Tony grabbed Sara and began to dance her about as he continued the game.

One by one the rest of the children joined in, pulled by the enthusiasm of their siblings. Even Natacha let Péter pull her off the bed and began to dance with them.

Was it a masterful piece of music? No, but the sound of their laughter and their voices raised high without fear or trepidation; Tony thought that was a beautiful sound indeed.

~*~*~

Steve had fallen asleep in his study again. This time at his desk. He'd lain his head down for one moment just to ease the pain and the next thing he knew he was being jerked from a light sleep by...banging? Thumping to be precise, just above his head. It was late, the household should be abed.

Steve reached into his desk and slid his fingers around his gun, his senses screaming with a sense of impending danger. For a moment he thought wildly about getting to the children, making sure they were safe, but he was torn between that and the impulse to seek out the threat and neutralize it.

As the banging continued above Steve realized the disturbance had to be coming from the servant’s quarters. Steeling himself he pulled the gun from the drawer, rising with the intent to seek out the source of the disturbance and deal with it however necessary, visions of Schmidt's private soldiers dancing in his head.

Later he supposed he would find it funny. At the moment, creeping through the darkened house, heart thumping heavily in his chest as the children’s screams blasted in his ears, he could find none of what occurred the least bit humorous.

Antony Stark was lucky that Steve was a man of caution, whose military experience had taught him to heavily rely on strategy, because as he’d hurried toward the sound of his children's hollering voices he’d wanted to rush in, shoot first and ask questions later, but instead he’d crept forward with singular focus and silently cracked open the door to assess the situation and formulate a plan of attack.

That was when he’d discovered his children crowded around the monk singing - what? A bar song? - something about goats on a hilltop in the dead of night, Steve felt like he was looking into a scene straight out of a mad house.

Stark was thumping about, Sara in his arms, the little girl giggling wildly. Péter was holding Maria securely in his arms as they bounced on the edge of the bed. Even Ian, the child he’d have credited with the most good sense, was dressed in bed sheets designed to look like an overcoat and...a dress? He'd tied what looked like a pillow case around his head in the fashion of a vail and was dragging James about the room, singing loudly in his brother's face. Natacha and Artur were thumping pillows like drums to a very mismatched beat. Enough so that Herr Stark, who was becoming winded had to keep stopping and repeating himself.

Despite the evidence before his eyes it was a moment before Steve really got it that the children were not in danger. They were not so much screaming as yelling, shrieking yes but with childish enthusiasm. They were singing and laughing... playing.

Relief rushed through him, and Steve sagged, his hands beginning to shake. He became aware he was still holding the gun and lifted it, staring at it with disbelief as if it had grown an extra muzzle, his heart still pounding madly.

He startled at a crack of thunder. In the room the children’s voices rose even louder as if they were trying to drown out the storm. And suddenly anger welled up within him, swift and forceful.

He’d just tucked the gun into his jacket as Frau Hogan came bustling around the corner looking harried as she tied her robe tighter about her night dress.

“Captain? What's happening, I heard screaming-”

Steve didn't wait for her to finish, pushing open the door to Stark's room, glowering as the monk narrowly avoided barreling into him.

Stark caught his balance and whipped around to face him and the room went silent as a tomb.

“Captain.” Stark, to Steve’s eternal frustration, looked as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or not.

“I thought I made it clear that bedtime was to be strictly observed.”

Stark inconceivably did not heed the danger in Steve’s tone, brown eyes bright and laughing lightly as he replied “well the children- no, well the storm frightens the children.”

Steve gritted his teeth with frustration, seething.

“Did you or did you not understand me, Stark?!” Steve snapped as he might to one of his soldiers, his temper flaring wildly.

Finally Herr Stark seemed to sober, his damnable expressive eyes losing their mirth and going cold.

“Yes, Captain. I understood perfectly.”

“What do you think you're doing?! Do you realize what I-” catching himself Steve bit off the words, and unable to finish the sentence he whirled away from the infuriating monk. His gaze settled on Frau Hogan.

“And where were you? Didn’t I charge you to watch them?!”

The woman sucked in a breath, clutching her robe to her frame and looked past Steve into disarray of the room, Stark and the children staring back with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, Captain, but I didn't hear them over the storm.”

“I told you to stay near them!” Steve all but shouted into the silence.

She straightened, her jaw clenching as she answered stiffly.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Then where were you?!” Where was she when anyone could have snuck into the house, when Stark, a stranger, could have snuck into the children’s rooms and done just about anything, when they’d been screaming the house awake? Steve’s blood was pounding so hard in his ears that for a moment he almost didn’t hear it when the monk spoke.

“Asleep I would imagine, Captain, and I would also imagine that you would only order your head of house to disrupt her normal sleeping arrangements due to your own absence if it was an absolute emergency.”

Steve turned his head a fraction toward Stark, every last muscle in his body overstrained and exhausted. Stark was glaring at him coldly and Steve glared right back.

“Given your need to be away from them, I know it must pain you to learn the children were so frightened by the storm. They likely forgot Frau Hogan was so close, and it’s a good thing isn’t it that they came to me? They were terrified and now they are not. This of course eases your spirit?”

They stared at one another, neither one willing to look away or to give the appearance of backing down.

Antony Stark was loud, obnoxious, and downright disobedient!

But, Steve couldn't shake from his memory the way he’d seen James grinning as his brother, his normally quiet and reclusive brother… how the boy had nearly swung him into a dresser, wearing a coronet on his head for god’s sake... how they’d both been laughing. And no matter how much he resented it the monk was right. The children had always climbed into bed with him and Peggy when it stormed… he’d not even thought of that. How many storms had there been in the years since her passing?

Damn him, but Stark was right. One could even call him intuitive, at least where the children were concerned, and if Steve could just rein him in, make the rest of his behavior align with some sense of reason, then he might just pass Schmidt's inspection and Steve’s plans to keep the children out of harms way might just actually work.

Remembering the wide eyes as he entered, Steve nodded his head at his children.

“Get to bed,” he ordered them quietly but sternly and there was a small chorus of ‘yes father’ as the children hurried to obey. Péter paused to take Sara, fussing with his wriggling sister who slapped her hands against Péter’s wet hair in protest to the end of all their fun.

Steve wondered briefly on the state of his hair before he realized what it had to mean. He just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes heavenward. The telegram, Osborne, how could he have forgotten?

“I don't recall seeing you after dinner, Péter” he groused and Péter froze, his face going red as he stuttered over a response.

Stark put his hand on Péter’s shoulder stilling him and Péter looked up at the man and swallowed, uncertainty in his eyes.

“We were having a chat. Getting to know each other better. Right, Péter?”

Péter nodded emphatically, little droplets of water landing on his shoulder.

Like hell they had been.

Steve hummed, and without taking his eyes off Stark nodded for Péter to leave them. Péter's shoulders sagged in relief and clutching his baby sister to him made a hasty exit. Steve could hear him murmur a good night to Frau Hogan as he slunk past.

“Was there anything else, Captain?” Stark’s voice brought him back and Steve grit his teeth before turning to face the man again.

Stark matched him gaze for gaze as if he weren’t a guest in Steve’s home, an employee… lord of the manor this one. Stark carried himself like he’d be king anywhere and it was annoying in a way that Steve couldn’t even begin to understand.

What a terrible monk he must have made Steve thought absently.

“As you know I'm leaving for Vienna in the morning,” he reminded the man and Stark nodded, his eyes flicking behind Steve, most likely to Frau Hogan.

“While I'm gone I’ll require you to send me a daily update on the children either by mail or phone. I’ll need to know of all their comings and goings and the progress of their lessons. The more detailed, the better. Is that understood Herr Stark?”

Stark cocked his head, “I thought you said you'd be gone a week, at most?”

Steve bit back his retort and took a breath. He had to remind himself that Stark was not a soldier who followed orders, who understood nuance and delicacy. He was an impetus monk who very well might have been raised on the side of the road. Steve had firsthand knowledge of what that looked like and Stark was not far off from the gregarious nomads he'd spent the beginnings of his life with.

“The nature of my business there is delicate and much as I’d like to, I don't know how long I'll be. It's... It's important that I know of everything about the children.”

Stark eyed him, his eyes roving, searching Steve's face for something. Steve stood still and let him, his body practically humming under the scrutiny. After a moment Stark seemed to find what he was looking for and nodded.

“Every last thing?”

“Yes.”

“So if Artur has the runs again like tonight-”

When had- oh of all the absurd!

“Yes. Stark,” Steve bit out “every last thing.”

Stark tilted his head, brown eyes glittering again with what Steve was coming to term mischief, considering thoughtfully as if he had a choice in the matter. He liked to pretend he had choices. It was something Steve was learning about the man.

“They'll be long letters.”

Good. Steve thought as his muscles finally unwound long enough for him to breathe properly.

“I count on it,” he sighed.

Stark moved away from him, his eyes raking up Steve's form. He was suddenly very aware that he was standing in his wrinkled day clothes in the middle of Stark’s room with a gun tucked away in his jacket. Well, today had certainly been eventful.

He took a steadying breath and turned to follow the hallway to the children's rooms, murmuring a quiet command to Frau Hogan to check the boys, when the monk spoke again.

“So really, what you want is for me to monitor the children like I’m the SS. Why not just put them back in school?”

Steve tensed, pausing at the door, his hand sliding against the door frame as he regarded Stark with an intense stare.

“If I were you Herr Stark, I’d be more concerned with who is monitoring you.”

He shut the door with a click, satisfied that for once Stark had nothing to say.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Tony Stark fell for the Rogers children (just the children mind you) and how they found a friend in an unexpected place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I got promoted at work, moved apartments, lost my computer, replaced it and in other words life happened. This chapter is entirely in Tony's point of view and covers the month that Steve is gone and the next one (which is almost finished) will be in Steve's. Bonus we finally get to meet Bucky! That should be coming your way within the next week. In the meanwhile enjoy Tony's dive into ~~parenthood~~ ' _tutoring_ '.

Tony had never slept well when the family traveled, and no matter how sweetly his mother had sung to him or how sternly his father had demanded that he grow up, he had never been able to force his mind or his fears to quiet. It was as if his bones knew the shape and feel of his own bed, his skin the sweet airs of home, and every sense he had seemed to long for them.

In retrospect he supposed it had been easier to travel without such a difficult child in tow. He should not have to wonder why he was so often left on his own while his parents travelled between their home in Pola and Hughard’s estate in Germany.

Stark Industries had started from a collection of small shacks at the edge of the river Elbe, and risen to the biggest private shipyard the world had ever seen. Even the Brits, who had held the undisputed title for best shipmaker’s the world over, had taken a back seat to Stark ingenuity and design: _German_ ingenuity and design. There were simply no ships like Stark ships, and thanks to them and their specialized weaponry Germany had become a military giant. One could even say, as Hughard often had, that Starks had given Germany _agency_ in the world. And my…what they’d done with it.

Stark and _German_ had always been synonymous in Hughard’s mind. So maybe Tony had always been doomed to disappoint him – to be the irritatingly consistent reminder that Hughard had climbed into bed with the enemy and that such actions bore dangerous consequences. For Hughard, Hamburg was home and their villa in Pola had been delegated as ‘the summer house’.

Tony couldn’t recall a single peaceful night he’d spent in his room at the Hamburg house.

There had been so much to love about Pola. The salt in the air, the sweet smell wafting up from the bakers stalls down in the market juxtaposed against the pungent smell of fish and port city life. In Pola there had been the Rhuza boy, who had come to work in their kitchen and whom Hughard had not tossed out on his head despite their fears (not at first anyway). Tony had called him Rhodey, on account of the island his father had been born on and the stories the older boy had recited to him as they’d strolled the beaches (imagine an island surrounded by flowers!).

In Pola their butler Jarvis let Tony trail along behind him, and had never stopped him from asking questions (or made him feel stupid for not already knowing their answers). His mother wore loose silks and bright colors to rival the deep aquamarine of the waters, and she wore her hair down, singing more… laughing more. Nowhere else had ever compared.

His first year at the abbey he hadn’t slept a wink. In truth his night terrors had been so vivid (recalling the deaths of his parents and the loss of Yinsen in such lurid detail) he’d feared the moment he closed his eyes each night. He did not know who had given the Father Superior the idea to allow him to turn the old stable into a workshop (if indeed it hadn’t been Farkas’ idea all along) but he had no doubt it had saved his mind, if not his life. It was hard to remember that first year. He’d spent so much of it drunk that was hardly a surprise.

Tony did not sleep well his first night with the Rogers family. After the children had been ordered back to their rooms and the Captain had practically slammed the door shut on his face leaving Tony alone for the night, he’d tried but the room was too big, smelled too stale, and he couldn’t help but remember the press of seven smaller bodies around his and think that it had been better: if only not to be alone.

After that he’d given up, collecting the few tools he’d been able to bring with him and had gone about fixing furniture. It was rudimentary work (all wood, nails, and screws) but it kept his mind occupied and is fingers away from the bottle (not that he had one on hand, but in a house this size he didn’t doubt he could find one).

When Tony woke the following morning it was in a heap of furniture bits and to Pepper’s insistent knocking at the bedroom door. She’d been aghast at the state of his room and did not look at all appeased by his assurances that the desk would be better than new when he was done with it.

She’d looked wan, like she expected Rogers to appear over her shoulder any minute and start yelling the house down, and then furious. Through tight lips she’d informed him that breakfast had come and gone, and that the captain departing soon would expect Tony and the children to be out front to see him off. Shouldn’t he make haste if he was going to make himself presentable?

Pepper, as it turned out, could be rather threatening when she was displeased. Tony did not feel it wise to cross her.

~*~

By the time Tony had made himself presentable (dressed, teeth hastily brushed and face washed) and hurried his way to the front of the house to join Frau Hogan and the children on the steps, the chauffer had already brought the car around and was loading Herr Wiess’ luggage on top of the captain’s.

Hammer gave him a disdainful look and refused to meet his eye, but that was just fine with Tony. The less he had to do with the much too uppity butler the better. A shame that, he’d known some fantastic butlers in his day. Hammer should be fired simply for giving butlers everywhere a bad name.

Rogers certainly looked better this morning (less green around the gills) but he still held himself stiffly as if pained. Maybe that was just the way he was, Tony mused, constantly tortured by an invisible rod up the rear.

Rogers, who had been chatting quietly with Herr Hogan about the condition of the roads after the rain, turned once the last bag had been secured and the trunk of the vehicle closed with a smart thud and regarded his children.

The man just stood there like a plank of wood, as seven pairs of eyes in various states of distress stared up at him, saying nothing. Finally he cleared his throat and nodded toward Frau Hogan who was standing behind Ian with her hands upon the boy’s shoulder.

“I trust you all know how to behave while I’m gone?”

A chorus of ‘yes fathers’ rose up in reply and Maria’s lip quivered as she grasped little Sara’s hand, the toddler abandoning parade rest in favor of clutching the hem of her dress tightly in her tiny palms as her face crumbled. Artur had the same miserable pout on his face he’d worn at dinner. Péter looked as if he might say something but couldn’t figure out where to start. While Natacha and Ian just looked resigned, James was harder to read. Tony doubted the stony expression he was aiming at the ground meant anything good.

He caught the captain’s eye as his gaze swept over the line again and arched his brow, challenging the man’s intelligence (because _really)_. The captain gritted his teeth and for a moment Tony thought he was going to march away just to be obstinate (stubborn goat of a man that he was) but then Rogers caught the gardner’s eye, of all people, and something about Wiess’ expression thankfully got him to turn back to the children and attempt a better parting.

“And I trust you’ll look out for each other?”

This was directed at Péter and Natacha, who nodded in agreement (Natacha with far more eagerness than Péter and Tony was not the only one to notice). His eyes narrowing on Péter, Rogers laid a hand on the boy’s thin shoulders, spoke the child’s name quietly, prompting the adolescent boy to finally meet his gaze.

“Péter, I’m trusting you to look after our family while I’m away. Can you do that for me?”

The two held each other’s stare for a long moment and Tony shivered, reminded keenly of his own boyhood. The responsibilities Hughard had held over Tony like weights. Weights that Hughard had slung there seemingly just to have the satisfaction of watching Tony fall beneath their load.

But, though the captain’s hand on the boy’s shoulder might have been heavy, the thumb that trailed lightly over Péter’s shoulder was betrayingly tender. Péter swallowed thickly, his spine straightening as he nodded with newfound conviction.

“Yes, Father. I’ll watch over them,” Péter was assuring Rogers even as his brother Ian stepped forward with a march in his step, his shoulders braced and hands clasped tightly behind his back as if he were addressing a commanding officer.

“And I have his back, Sir.”

The edge of Rogers’ mouth twitched as if he might smile, but he seemed to know not to. He simply nodded, resting his other hand briefly upon the younger boy’s shoulder and departing with a gentle squeeze.

“That I never doubted, Ian. Thank you.”

Ian glowed like the sun had taken up residence in his chest and in contrast Natacha and James had gone stiff, dark expressions staring somewhere past their father’s shoulders and refusing to meet his eye. Tony wondered if Rogers had any idea how much each of his children wanted his approval. How starved they were for it and how easy it would be to turn one against the other if he appeared too often to give the scraps of his attention to a favorite. He thought not at first. And then…

“Natacha?” The captain began and the girl turned sharp blue eyes on her father and mumbled through tight lips.

“Mind the little ones. Help Frau Hogan. Is that what you’re going to say?”

“And help your brothers. They need you.”

Tony had gone still, his breath holding somewhere in his throat as the weight of the unspoken pressed down upon them all. _I need you,_ might not have been said but they’d all heard it. What was more, Natacha seemed to know it despite what Rogers actually said with a hasty clearing of his throat.

“I wouldn’t trust the house to run without you,” the captain finished and Natacha regarded him silently.

“Of course, Father.” She finally answered with a demure bow of her head, but her spine had gone straight, her shoulders braced as if for war. “It wouldn’t.”

Péter shot his sister an irritated look and she smirked at him. Tony’s heart sank somewhere into his stomach.

“ _Mio dio_ , what a mess,” he muttered under his breath and hard blue eyes turned sharply upon him.

“Something to add Herr Stark?” Rogers drawled and Tony smiled stiffly back at him in reply.

“Me? Surely not Captain. Just remarking on what a fine day it is.”

“Indeed it is Herr Stark.” The captain agreed with an air of suspicion as he backed away from Péter, beginning a final check of the pockets of his suit jacket.

“A shame then, to spend it on the road.” Tony mused and Rogers paused to pin him with a smile so banal it was pointed.

“A shame that can’t be avoided.”

“Of course not Captain. It would be extremely difficult for a man of your importance to do as he wished when he wished it.”

Hammer gasped like a dying fish and the air crackled between Tony and Rogers like a sky full of fireworks. The Captain looked as if he wished to throttle him and Tony’s pulse leapt, though he wasn’t sure it was all for appropriate reasons. He had a nasty habit of poking sleeping giants (Farkas always said so) and never seemed to learn his lesson.

“Indeed,” Rogers drawled slowly, something rough and not at all genteel twanging through the syllables as he tipped his hat at Tony.

Tony was saved from having to come up with any sort of reply when Artur, dragging Maria behind him, approached the captain and tugged on his jacket to get his attention.

“Father?” The boy’s voice wavered as his father looked down at him with a startled frown but Artur gulped and bravely continued. “Did Sam do something wrong? Do you not like him anymore?”

Hammer closed his mouth with a snap, grimacing with distaste at the mention of the gardener and Tony scowled, bracing himself for the usual drivel people spouted about the supposed inferiority of people like Sam (people like him).

Rogers cleared his throat again and shook his head and Tony could only stare at him in bewilderment.

“No Artur. Samuel hasn’t done anything wrong. He will be sorely missed.” And color him shocked but Tony actually believed the man. The small boy standing in front of him however did not seem appeased, only greatly confused by this, his expression darkening.

“Then why does he have to go away? He’s a very good gardener. He knows tons about bugs and he lets Maria help with the flowers.”

“Artur- ” Steve began, six levels of exhaustion in the boy’s name. But Artur didn’t just look like his father, he had a stubborn streak to match.

“Maria will cry!” The boy insisted heatedly, balling his tiny fists like he was about to sock the person responsible. “And I don’t want to miss anybody!”

“I’m afraid that’s just the way it’s got to be for now _Spaetzchen,_ ” Sam spoke up for the first time taking a step toward the boy. He halted momentarily at Hammer’s warning glare but set his shoulders and continued forward a moment later as if he hadn’t noticed (or perhaps, didn’t care). “Most of my family has moved on. It’s time I moved on too.”

“But aren’t we his family?” Maria’s small voice pleaded, and it broke Tony’s heart to see the tears dampening her cheeks.

“Now that’s quite enough.” Hammer huffed, puffing up like a poked hen as he turned to Pepper and snapped. “Frau Hogan, please, take the children inside. The captain needs to be on his way.”

It was Hammer’s turn to be glared at as Sara’s wobbling mouth finally fell open in a loud sob at the announcement that they would be taken from their father and not allowed to see him leave. It was like someone had declared bedlam as suddenly Maria was sobbing into her hands and Artur, blinking back tears of his own, turned with the intention to run off heaven only knew where.

Tony suspected it was to hit Hammer, judging by the way the boy was pointed when Tony caught him, but even if Tony could sympathize with the impulse he didn’t think the action would go unpunished.

Artur struggled in his grasp and Tony made sure to hold him tight, leaning down to his eye level.

“Hey, hey, where are you off to so quickly? You’re going to miss saying goodbye.” Tear filled blue eyes met his, dark blond lashes clumped together over flushed cheeks as Artur snapped back at him.

“I don’t want to say goodbye!”

“Yes, I caught that. You don’t want to miss anybody. I don’t either, so we just won’t.”

Artur blinked up at him, cheeks still flushed with anger but his brow had wrinkled in confusion and he wasn’t attempting to run anywhere (or at anyone) so that was good.

“If only emotions could be so easily wished away, Herr Stark.” Pepper sighed, smoothing back Maria’s hair, something of a reprimand and a warning behind her tone. Tony got her point he supposed but he had a plan of action and he was going to stick with it. He took Artur’s hand and turned to reach for Maria’s, who to the surprise of all readily left Peppers arms to reach back.

“Exactly right Pepper, which is why we’re just going to skip all the wishing and get right to doing.”

“How?” Artur asked warily, wiping his tears with the back of his palm.

“Your father has got to go. There’s no stopping that, very important business, can’t be avoided; but that doesn’t mean we’ve all just got to sit around like moldy lumps on a log missing him, do we?”

Neither Artur nor any of the other children dared to answer. Everyone, including Rogers, was watching Tony like he’d just grown a second head and declared himself pope. Until over in Péter’s arms Sara, around gummy fingers once again stuck in her mouth, piped up with a solitary “No missing anybody!”

Tony beamed at her.

“That’s the spirit! We’ll be far too busy to miss anybody because the captain is giving us a special mission while he is away.”

“Must I?” the captain asked incredulously, his eyebrows climbing up his face and Tony gave him a pressed look.

“I insist Captain Rogers. I know you worry but the children are ready for the responsibility. Aren’t you, children?”

Tony had never seen seven bodies snap to attention so fast outside of a parade.

“Yes, Herr Stark. We’ll do whatever it is father needs us to do,” Ian assured him earnestly. Natacha looked more dubious but she crowded around him with the others.

“What is the mission?” she asked, ever suspicious.

“Yes, pray tell Herr Stark. What is this mission?” Rogers followed with another tired drawl. Tony ignored him.

“Well Herr Wiess is going to return someday and the captain has promised him a big celebration party, because that will be a fine day. Won’t it?”

“A very fine day,” Maria agreed with a nod, hope beginning to creep into her voice.

“The finest. And it will be the finest of parties. Fine china, wine so expensive it will make you sick, opera singers…”

“…fireworks?” James suggested hopefully and Tony nodded encouragingly.

“All night! Nobody will sleep for miles.”

“Sweets!” Artur demanded with a hungry gleam and Tony shuddered to think it but nodded just the same.

“You’ll have toothaches for months.”

“Elephants?” Natacha, catching on to the game, suggested dryly with a sardonic lift of one red eyebrow and Tony’s mouth lifted in an answering smirk.

“I wanted six, but your father insisted they’d ruin the garden and since the party is for Sam, he thought that was in poor taste.”

“Stark is there some point to all this?” Rogers interrupted with a sigh and Tony blinked at him as if surprised to still see him standing there.

“Oh Captain, you’re still here? We’d almost forgotten. You’d better get a move on. The children and I can’t start our mission with the guest of honor loitering around!”

“But Herr Stark, you’ve not told us what our mission is,” Péter reminded him.

“I haven’t? Well that won’t do. You see your father has got everything planned: the time, the place, the decorations, the fireworks, but we’re light on the entertainment and Sam was just telling the captain how long it has been since he saw a good puppet show. So I said we simply must put one on for him.”

Tony noticed that while the children’s eyes had widened and the Captain looked flummoxed, that Sam’s dark mouth had split into a wide grin, the gardener throwing back his head and laughing.

“See, he’s giddy just thinking about it. It’s very important, and it’s our job to see it done right.”

“But we don’t have any puppets!” James decried and Tony nodded solemnly.

“We’re going to have to make them I’m afraid.”

“Real puppets?” James inquired dubiously, “wooden ones on strings like at the theater?”

“Real puppets. The finest in Austria. Better even than the theater.” Tony promised.

“Are you a carpenter as well as a monk now Herr, Stark” Hammer sneered and Tony didn’t even spare the man a look as he responded to stupidity with the only thing it deserved: disinterest.

“I’m a Stark. If I can build a fully weaponized ship I can build a puppet Hammer.” Turning back to the children Tony said, “But I don’t think I can teach you if you’ll all be too sad.” 

To Tony’s relief the children’s protests were immediate, each of them clamoring to be heard over the other as they insisted they wouldn’t be too sad, that they’d be extra good, if only he would teach them how. Always willing to bank on luck when it was on his side, Tony secured their promises to be on their best behavior, starting with bidding their father and Sam farewell with no more tears and hysterics.

And to the amazement of all they complied with near perfect obedience (Sara refused to end her goodbye hug and sniffled when Frau Hogan finally pried her away). Hammer did not look at all pleased, though Tony didn’t know whether that had more to do with his behavior, the children’s, or the likelihood that one day Weiss would have to return and the house would celebrate it (he suspected the latter). The butler gave Tony a sour look before departing a stiff farewell to the captain and marching even more stiffly after Frau Hogan and the children.

Tony watched their progress and the tension that had been coiled tightly in his chest finally began to ease, until the captain’s quiet voice made him go tense again.

“Herr Stark?”

“Yes Captain?” Tony prompted without turning around, poised still to follow after the others.

He waited, heart pounding for the next reprimand (how dare he make such wild promises to the children, how dare he speak out of turn, how dare he fill their heads with such senseless hopes) but it never came. Instead the Captain cleared his throat softly and said, so quietly that Tony nearly missed it, “That was… I mean to say, that was rather well done.”

Tony blinked and was pretty sure he was wearing a gob smacked expression when he turned to find Rogers at his back, blue eyes not quite able to meet his with a countenance that Tony might have called bashful on someone less rigid than the captain. But then those eyes shifted and pinned his like darts to a board and suddenly Tony wished they’d look anywhere else.

“I know it was not my place to promise such a thing…” he was surprised to hear himself admit. “But the children seem so fond of Weiss I…”

“They are.” Rogers answered simply, as if it cost him nothing to say so. As if it made no difference for the pride of Austria to stand before a man like Weiss and say with such sincere fondness, “I hardly know what I’m going to do without him.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Captain.” Was all Weiss said in reply, but to Tony it seemed that a wealth of words had passed between them. And then the gardener’s dark eyes fixed on him as he said, “you be sure and take care now, Herr Stark.”

Tony heard the underlining threat and could hear Maria again pleading ‘ _aren’t we his family’._ Tony nodded. He’d take care of them. Never mind the necessity for his own survival he’d never intended anything else.

He did not know what to think about any of it as Sam nodded farewell and climbed into the waiting vehicle.

“Stark.” Rogers barked and Tony jumped, eyes flying back to the captain.

“I’d heard that Hughard had a family. You have his look.”

Tony had to bite his tongue to avoid saying all the things that welled up in response to that because Rogers, damn him, looked hopeful for the first time in their acquaintance and it had nothing to do with Tony but his damned name. _Hughard’s_ name.

Faced with Tony’s cold silence Rogers nodded again, straightening up with a wan sort of smile.

“No doubt they’ll be fine puppets. I trust the children’s studies won’t go neglected?” He asked and Tony grimaced.

“I’d be a poor tutor if they were.”

“You’ll remember to write?”

“Every detail Captain,” Tony promised, meeting Rogers stare for stare this time. He could see that Rogers had heard the underlining threat in his words and couldn’t help the swell of satisfaction that brought him. Rogers however, didn’t take the bait.

“ _Guten Tag_ , Herr Stark,” the captain said with a final nod as he turned to depart and Tony knew he shouldn’t but he was still smarting from the admiring expression Rogers had given him when he’d fully realized who he was, that blooming hope in his eyes bought with his father’s legacy.

Tony gave him a loose two fingered salute and a grin to rival the Cheshire cat’s, jauntily wishing him farewell with an, “ _Addio, mio Capitano._ ”

He didn’t stay to watch the words land. If the captain disapproved Tony didn’t care. He’d spent a lifetime living up to peoples low expectations of him and failing miserably at any and every attempt to rise above them. He wasn’t sure any longer that he knew who Captain Rogers was, but the sooner Rogers realized that Tony was never going to be his father the better.

~*~*~

When Tony reentered the hall Frau Hogan was waiting for him her posture and expression so severe that he faltered in his step, actually taken a step back.

“Herr Stark, a word please!”

“Pepper, my girl, I insist you call me Tony. This Stark business is- ” Tony began but Pepper cut right over him.

 “Is it your intention to remain employed here?” The slender young housekeeper demanded to know. She barely allowed Tony to babble a sound or two in affirmation before she smartly informed him that antics like the ones he’d pulled the previous night and just moments before on the front steps would see him promptly dismissed.

“Before the ink has dried on your dismissal papers,” she promised. “I can forgive your brash nature and your inappropriate refusal to address me by my proper name, but I will not let harm come to these children.”

Frau Hogan looked as if she would have gladly wrestled a bear in that moment, had it a mind to cross her, so Tony believed her and stayed quiet. But she had it wrong. He wasn’t out to hurt any of the Rogers children. Their father did not need his assistance in that regard. Tony had only been trying to help, to ease the burden of their loneliness. 

“Did it not occur to you how crushed they will be when your wild claims turn out to be nothing but daydreams?” Pepper berated and Tony couldn’t keep his silence any longer.

“I gave them a future _worth_ dreaming about.” Tony, who apparently could not bite his damn tongue to save his life, found himself insisting with bite. “I know it’s a vain hope. So do _they_ , Frau Hogan, but _mio dio_ they’ve got to hope in something. Haven’t they?” Tony demanded and Frau Hogan’s back stiffened.

The housekeeper swallowed thickly, mouth pressed in a tight line and Tony waited his own body stiff with tension. It was a long moment before Frau Hogan spoke again, her tone more subdued but no less stern.

“The Captain wanted to dismiss you yesterday, Herr Stark.” It wasn’t a surprise to Tony but still the words somehow managed to cause a flash of hurt.  Frau Hogan took a step closer to him, something passionate returning to her voice as she spoke lowly, for his ears alone. “I spoke up for you, because the children seem to like you and god knows they need a friend… But these are dangerous times and their best hope is in their father’s ability to protect them. Stefen cannot do that without your help.”

Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was true, the country was on the brink of war but he hardly understood what the Rogers children needed protecting from. They were Austrian (German now), wealthy, and as Aryan as it came. He could not help the surge of anger he felt and barely resisted the urge to bite out that the Rogers children were not the ones with something to fear (not the ones slowly watching the value of their lives deplete as the wolves sharpened their knives for the hunt). Frau Hogan must have seen something of his feeling in his eyes because she stepped away from him, something cold between them now.

“Follow the curriculum I gave you and you shall have no problems. Do not, and I shall inform the captain. Is that understood?”

Tony knew orders when he heard them. He nodded and the housekeeper left him with a swirl of skirts, her smart heels clicking on the floor.

~*~

The thing was. Tony wasn’t so good with orders.

Per the captain’s instructions, each morning after breakfast he met the children in the school room where he was to spend several hours brushing off last terms lessons, patching any holes, and preparing them in an advance for fall term. Their summer lessons were light in that regard (mostly review).

Tony was bored to tears within the first hour. By the end of second day he was ready to hit himself over the skull with something heavy.

He’d been surprised by the captain’s curriculum, its emphasis on maths and sciences rather than the socialists beloved racial history and ‘character building’ courses, but he’d almost have welcomed them if only  to stave off the mind numbing endeavor that was educating children who had no interest in an education.

All of the children were clearly well studied. Too well studied in Tony’s opinion. They sat in their chairs behind their desks as if they expected to spend their lives there, eyes glazed as they answered his questions in subdued monotone like monks chanting well known hymns by route (Tony should know).

And their answers were beyond lazy. Mostly they came from Péter, his younger siblings latching on and parroting his replies whether he bothered to think at all. Otherwise they all politely pleaded their ignorance and waited for the answers to be given to them. Ian was the only one who even bothered to take notes.

Artur, closest to the window, was studiously watching a fly buzz about as he mouthed along with his siblings. Tony imagined they could have started denouncing god right in the middle of the classroom and the boy might not have noticed. James was in danger of nodding off and Sara had actually fallen asleep curled up in her chair, sucking on one tiny balled fist.

Maria thought Tony hadn’t seen the novel she’d tucked inside her lesson book (something pastel with French in the title) her focus on it intent as she slowly mouthed the words to herself. The child couldn’t even speak French! Let alone read it.

Tony couldn’t say why such a strong flavor of contempt seemed to build on his tongue that morning as the minutes ticked by. Far from being satisfied that his unwanted job had turned out to be as easy as turning off his brain and droning facts off like a radio program, an unprecedented kind of anger had begun to simmer at the base of his gut, growing with each day that passed.

He couldn’t sleep at night, and when he turned on the actual radio it was only to hear the sounds of Austria’s inevitable march toward war (even as they blithely denied the war going on within). Daily the immigration office was packed to overflowing and yet the window of escape was getting smaller and smaller as other countries restricted the number of refugees they would accept by lower and lower numbers.

Though Tony had a mind that others would classify as brilliant, he could not for all the world make sense of it. How could it be that the world would collectively decide they wanted nothing to do with ‘the Jewish problem’, content to turn a blind eye to the plight of their fellow man? It was a bitter pill to swallow daily, the knowledge of abandonment, but the premonition of how they would all plead ignorance of what they had left in the wake of their indifference... that was an agony.

Perhaps then, it was indifference itself that he had grown so weary of. He’d been weaned on it and he may very well die by it but he’d be damned if he accepted it without protest; especially from children (these ones in particular).

“Taking into account that we started with two apples and the apples are delivered at a rate of twice weekly, four crates a delivery. How many apples can we expect to have at the end of the month if, say, a crate contains ten apples?” Tony asked, looking out over his comatose audience.

“We don’t know Herr, Stark,” came the prompt and expected reply. Natacha staring blankly somewhere past Tony’s head jumped when he loudly snapped the lesson book shut.

“Then you aren’t thinking. It’s easy. A child could do it and you’re children so come along.” Tony motioned impatiently with his hand and in his chair Péter sat up straighter, anxiousness stiffening his shoulders as he thought through the math.

“Three hundred and twenty two,” he offered confidently enough after a moment of deliberation but his face fell into a deep frown as Tony shook his head, tsking at him.

“Sorry, Péter. You’re good but I’m afraid you’re wrong this time.”

“No he isn’t.” Natacha refuted straitening in her own chair.

“This, from the girl who a moment ago didn’t know the answer?” Tony considered her with a bored expression. “Or are we just feeling lazy, frauline?”

Tony thought he saw her shoulders tense, something opaque flashing in her eyes but she didn’t cringe at the rebuke.

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But Péter is right. I did the math.”

“And yet he is wrong.” Tony insisted.

“No I’m not.” Péter insisted right back, becoming frustrated. They were certainly all awake now staring between him and Péter with nervous expressions. The dark haired boy was frowning intensely at Tony as he grabbed the open journal on his desk and began to scribble out the equation. “Apples come in crates of ten, there are four crates per delivery so that’s forty. Deliveries occur twice a week so that’s eighty apples a week. There are approximately four weeks in a month, plus the two we started with. Three hundred-twenty two. See?”

“I see a scenario, that when considered at face value has an easy answer. You’re wrong Péter, if only because some questions don’t have easy answers and you didn’t bother to ask any. You failed to take into account that there are only two weeks left in this month.”

Tony turned at the sound of a loud scoff, to find James leaning forward in his chair, hands gripping his pencil in a death grip.

“So it was a trick?” the young boy accused. “You’re a terrible tutor.”

“Not a trick,” Tony denied softly. “A lesson.”

“A lesson in what? How to lie?” James retorted. Péter seemed surprised by the younger boy’s defense, saying nothing as he stared between him and their tutor with apprehension.

“You never told him you meant this exact month! That makes it a trick,” the boy insisted and Tony grit is teeth in irritation.

“Do you feel tricked James?” He asked, considering the boy with a tilt of his head. “I’m sorry for that. But I asked for exactly what I wanted. If any of you had bothered to think about it, even a little, you would have noticed there was a margin for error and done something to limit that. Do not blame me for your passivity.”

Tony began putting away the books that Pepper had provided ignoring the stupefied and lost expressions on the children’s faces (minus James who still looked sullen).

“Péter made a lazy assumption because it was easy to do so and he suffered for it. Sneaky on my part? Yes, I’ll grant you that.” Tony admitted with a shrug. “But maybe now he knows better than to listen with half an ear and make assumptions. As for the rest of you I can’t teach you if you refuse to use your brains. So we are done here. You’re dismissed.”

“But Herr Stark we have another hour of lessons!” Ian insisted, dumbfounded. Artur, halfway out of his seat jerked to a stop and began to sink back down into it.

“I don’t see what for. You know it all. Go play. Come back when you think there is something I can teach you.”

Tony focused on packing up his things as slowly the Rogers children began to gather themselves as well as their own things. He didn’t look up as they shuffled from the school room, indignation and quiet anger still simmering lowly inside.

He’d had a fair point. So why did he feel suddenly like a terrible bully? Maria’s trembling lip and downcast gaze as she slunk from the room was like a punch to the gut, and Tony flushed with shame.

Natacha’s quiet voice when it came startled him. The young girl stood in front of his desk, blue eyes boring down into him with censure.

“James is right you know,” she murmured lowly. “You teach above the little ones heads and below ours, and then you blame us for not thinking- throwing tantrums as if you were Sara’s age.”

She said nothing more, turning with a swish of her pale skirts to follow after her siblings and leave Tony to his own thoughts.

That…he sighed after a long moment to himself. That had not been very well done.

~*~

For the fourth night in a row sleep had been an exercise in futility. He’d attempted it for a half hour, staring at the ceiling, ticking through complex conjunctions in his head until finally giving it up as a bad job and making his way to the garage in his nightclothes. Getting in was as simple as picking the lock (Tony could have engineered a better one in his sleep, he really needed to talk to Pepper about their security) and only once he’d closed the door behind him did he feel the tension wound so tightly between his shoulders begin to ease.

 

It was a spacious garage neatly filled with various pieces of equipment: bicycles, what looked like parts to a boiler, an old clock that had apparently ticked its last. An unused automobile sat in the middle of the garage, gleaming black and beautiful and practically singing to him. Tony had looked around the garage at all the helpless equipment just waiting for tender hands such as his to soothe where they ailed and had, for the first time since laying hands on the captain's piano, felt a weight easing from him.

 

He’d gone to the automobile first, because it would have been rude to ignore a lady, the black surface winking at him as he'd run a hand over her hood, imagining it to still be warm with life. He could fix this, a broken belt, perhaps a new engine. All in do time, all a matter of the right tools and the right hands and she would be restored. The car was fixable, like so little else.

 

Tony spent that night and into the following morning half buried underneath the auto losing himself to a completely different kind of music.

 

He didn’t have to think about Weiss as he cracked away at gears, the click and clank of metal singing in his ears, or the way the Captain had looked at him with such resignation and sadness, even as Tony had been promising the children that this was not the last they’d see of their beloved gardener. He didn’t have to think on how a man like Samuel became ‘beloved’ to a man like Rogers.

 

Or the way Rogers he'd looked at Péter and the boys as Ian had all but sworn his life away for a scrap of approval from his father.

 

He didn’t have to think about how, in the end, they all might.

 

But of course he did. He thought about Rogers until his brain ached.

 

What was he to make of a man like Stefen Rogers? On the one hand he was everything Tony had expected from a vaunted military hero and on the other… the man who’d stood before Weiss did not fit the portrait of Captain Rogers, hardened office of the Reich.

 

That man’s existence was impossible and yet, Tony had seen him, heard him call Weiss a friend and had believed him. That man was someone even Tony would have followed into war.

 

Perhaps that's what Germany saw in him. Captain Rogers: a fixed star, a rallying point, a shepherd boy for the lost sheep.

 

And then Tony imagined so clearly those blue eyes watching him closely as he wiped grease from his brow that Rogers might as well have been looming over him; he could feel their intensity, the spark low in his belly they ignited.

 

It was around that time that Tony let his wrench drop to the floor of the garage with a discordant clang and pushed himself out from under the car with a muttered curse.

 

He’d worked through the night, but it was still too early for breakfast so Tony had given himself the grand tour again, moving through the rooms of the house feeling largely like an interloper as the staff went about preparing the house for another day. He made his way down to the kitchens, out to the garage and the gardens, and eventually back to his quarters to wash before breakfast.

 

After the meal he’d made his way to the day room near his own quarters. He hadn’t written to either Farkas or Rogers yesterday, and he couldn’t put it off much longer.

He’d made himself at home riffling through the drawers for writing supplies and made a gauge attempt at relating to Farkas what tidbits he’d gathered on the Captain.

There wasn't much, at least of a political nature. There hadn’t been anything suspicious or noteworthy in any of the rooms he'd been in thus far. He was certain anything of value or importance would be kept in the captain's office, locked, or in his bedroom, also locked, and since Tony had no reason to be in either of those spaces if he were seen he’d have to wait for a more opportune time to pick the locks.

He really was no good at spy work he thought irritable, and not very good at tutoring either it seemed.

But he couldn't fix that one anytime soon and the other he was working on, so in the meanwhile there were letters to be written. Tony resettled himself in his seat and flipped on the radio, using up the fountain pen ink just to be a brat and concentrated on detailing the mundane existence of the Rogers household for his two overly demanding masters.

_Rogers has been gone nearly a fortnight and while his last letter indicated a desire to return the pictures of him in the paper swaning about Vienna with statesmen and pretty women would say otherwise…_

 

Tony frowned glancing from the letter he was penning to Niklas toward the wall adjacent to his bedroom as if he could see through it into the drawer were he’d tucked the captains last letter in the nightstand. He was again having trouble reconciling the man he’d witnessed the morning the captain had departed with the man captured on the front of the society pages. None of it made sense to him. He grabbed the parchment where he was dictating the children’s activities in excruciating detail to the captain and added:

 

_At precisely three o’clock in the afternoon James inquired on your whereabouts and when we could expect your return. I calculate that this is the fourth time since your departure that he has asked, which is only beaten by Maria’s three and an aborted ask – as interrupted by Artur’s arrival with a mouse (please see the graph below as a reference for said mouse). While I would never presume to interrupt your state dinners and no doubt important social gatherings, their consistent asking after you leads me to believe your presence at home would be of some value of its own._

 

Smiling to himself Tony flipped the dial on the radio, static fuzzing in and out until he found a new channel, still relishing the fact that he could. Radio’s had been banned at the abbey as Niklas had felt the brothers stood a better chance of staying out of German prison camps if they were left somewhat ignorant to the outside world (and of his own political activities no doubt). But of course none of them were stupid men, and news reached the abbey through the mouths of strangers and visitors passing through or the occasionally smuggled newspaper.

 

They’d all known what was happening to an extent, but it must be made to look as if they didn't, as if they had no other agenda outside the church. Harmless monks would not present a threat and could not be arrested so easily with the Vatican watching, even though the Führer was well aware that rebellion was spreading through the churches. He’d begun to ferret out the resistance by infiltrating the churches with spies, and if the Abbott’s dire warnings were to be believed, he was having great success.

 

No one could be trusted. No one was to really know how organized or how wide spread the resistance was. No one but Niklas himself, Tony didn’t doubt.

 

He’d been sheltered in that way, and now there was a shallow thrill to having as many choices of news as he did. He'd already leafed through a copy of Der Stürmer that one of the maids had left in the staff quarters but the endless ramblings about ethnic Germans in Poland and their plight of persecution had inevitable bored him. He'd gone searching for more of the magazines but had found only the daily paper and the local HJ magazine that held the youth programs schedule for the week.

 

He’d expected to find some of course, but for an officer of the Reich the good captain had far less S.S. themed literature than Tony would have predicted.

 

He caught himself puzzling over the contradictions that the captain presented and snorted derisively at himself. So the man wasn’t big on reading. It was hardly indicative of good character. If the penmanship in his letters was anything to go by reading and writing had come to Rogers late in life and probably reluctantly at that. Nothing more to it.

 

He turned the knob once more and Marlene Dietrich’s soft butterfly voice filled the room.

 

He finished the last of the abbot’s letter with a flourish and shuffled his papers, beginning again on his letter to the captain. Three pages about the mouse Artur had found ought to please him. The captain would enjoy reading the mathematical weight and length of the mouse as well as the ratio at which the little boy had held the creature to the ground. Tony had even drawn a picture.

 

It was intermingled with Natacha’s fight to plait her hair. Tony had seen her storming back upstairs after James teased her at supper. She'd spent the next half hour tackling her hair into submission. He'd been surprised there was any hair left on her head after seeing the hair brush she'd left discarded in her room so, of course, There were at least four paragraphs detailing the submission of Natacha locks with an estimate of hair depletion as well as estimates for her next round with brush and comb.

 

“Detailed enough, Mio Capitano?” He murmured with an accomplished grin. 

 

He'd never been accused of being mature. Brilliant, but never mature.

 

He had to change certain aspects about the lessons (mainly that they’d had them since the disaster the other day) and then it was onto Ian. Tony paused over the letter, once more, blinking as he drew a blank. He pictured the boy: average height, skinny, though not as skinny as his brothers (already Tony could see the makings of his father’s build). But he was lost as to what Ian had done with himself the previous day. Or anything he’d said for that matter, he was so quiet!

 

He and the little one, Maria.

 

He propped his head on his hand. What had Ian done yesterday? After breakfast the children had gone outside to exercise and then…

 

They'd gone outside Tony recounted to himself and froze.

 

The window across from him was cracked to let in the afternoon breeze. A bird squawked somewhere in a tree, the sound of panicked flaps filtering through the window. He could hear Herr Hogan clunking around underneath the family car as sounds drifted over from the garage. If he strained his ears enough he could even hear Pepper’s heels in the hallway as she paused to speak to one of the staff.

 

It was what he couldn't hear that had him worried.

 

Damn.

 

Tony folded the letter back into the drawer and sighed loudly. It was too quiet for seven children. Something wasn't right, the children were plotting or turning up trouble and Tony would hazard a guess that Natacha or James would be at the helm of it. He'd seen the look they'd shared his first night, it wasn't hard to figure who had decided on spiders in Tony's bed.

 

He hurried from the room and down the hallway, keeping his eyes peeled as he walked for anything amiss. They were clever but young and prone to bumping into things and he had only left them a few hours alone. Had they been this quiet yesterday? He couldn’t remember.

 

He checked their quarters first. Breezing past Pepper and, sure enough, the maids she'd been instructing.

 

“Can I help you fi-” she called out to him and he cut her off, ignoring the way her face settled into an unconvinced masked.

 

“No, no it's all under control!” He shouted as he sped up towards the children's rooms.

 

The ring leaders first. Tony skittered to a stop in front of Natacha’s room, pausing to knock on the door. He waited for an answer and when none came twisted the knob and let the door swing open. The room was pristine except for the hair trinkets she'd left out and a few of her GMC magazines.

 

Péter’s room was next. Tony wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it was, oddly, not the mess of books and knick knacks cluttering the room, enough for two boys he'd wager. It did look fresh however.

 

Tony merely glanced into the nursery where the little girls still slept. It was distressingly free of children. If the ring leaders were gone then there was barely any point in looking for the others in their rooms, Tony was thinking to himself as he turned his thoughts toward the outside and searching the house grounds.

 

He nearly tripped over his feet stopping himself as he darted past Ian's room. Ian's room with Ian very much still in it.  

 

Ian blinked at him from his upside down position on his bed, the comic book he held balanced precariously on his knees almost whacking him in the face as he attempted to sit up, his eyes widening at the sight of his tutor.

 

“Herr Stark?”

 

The room Tony knew was normally tidy even though it was inhibited by the three youngest boys. However, Ian sat in the middle of what looked like a bomb site. Everything clothes, books, toy figurines, even the bed sheets, were thrown about. If the dresser could have been dislodged Tony was sure it would have been across the room in smithereens.

 

Ian blinked up at him swallowing thickly.

 

“I didn't do it!” He rushed to explain, managing to sit up fully.

 

“Of course, it just came like this I suppose?” Tony countered still taking in the destruction in the room with a sinking feeling. Pepper was not going to be happy.

 

Ian shook his head and didn't offer up anything more; but his eyes betrayed him flickering to one of the other beds before he swallowed.

 

“I think one of the maids was looking for something. Or... maybe Herr Hammer? He comes in sometimes.”

 

Right, clearly it was one of his brothers then. Likely the one who slept on the bed his eyes couldn’t seem to stop straying to.

 

Tony sighed and wagged a finger at him. “Not fair, Ian. Don’t blame the staff for Artur’s temper. You could cost someone their job.”

 

Ian's faced colored but he sat up straighter and snapped.

 

“Artur didn't do anything!”

 

Okay then it was James. Tony really did not want to be dealing with this right now or to have to admit that it had happened because Tony hadn’t been keeping as close an eye on them as he should have been (considering they should technically have been in the schoolroom right now going over their History).

 

“Ian, where are they? Chop, chop, I don't have all day for games!”

 

Ian clenched his jaw and opened his book again. He'd made a clear little space for himself in the midst of James mess. He sat the book on his legs and turned the page, scratching the bare bit of ankle that peeked out from under his folded legs, his jaw set, determined to wait Tony out.

 

Tony was growing very familiar with that look (damn Rogers).

 

“Ian,” Tony prompted, warning clear in his voice.

 

“Where are who, Herr Stark?”

 

Tony raised a brow, not sure if Ian was capable of playing at innocence or if his usual forthrightness could be relied upon. Judging by the rolled up trousers ungracefully hidden under his night stand (one wet leg poking out, rolled and wet where the knees might be, as if someone had tried to rub out dirt stains and then hide them) Tony was willing to hedge a guess on it being the former.

 

That whole ruining clothes thing had to stop. He'd be damn if he was fishing out clothes from the drains because they were too afraid to show they had dirtied them.

 

“Natacha and James.” Tony supplied succinctly and Ian raised a brow of his own in challenge.

 

“Where do you think they are, Herr Stark?”

 

Tony wondered how Pepper dealt with so many versions of what Tony was beginning to coin the Rogers stubbornness.

 

He took a long exasperated breath though his nose and shot in the dark.

 

“I think James lost his temper again, and that they should have sent him to cool down instead of leaving you to deal with his bad mood. It’s hardly fair to you.”

 

His eyes flickered over Ian's crumpled pants again.

 

“James got you dirty. You hate being dirty and James hates being told what to do. You got into a fight and Péter probably sent you back inside, and that’s when James decided to redecorate.”

 

Ian lowered his book eyes wide with shock.

 

“If you knew all that, why did you need to ask me?”

 

“I didn't know.” Tony replied, gathering a little enjoyment from the way Ian's eyes widened even further in confusion. “It’s called deductive reasoning. If you’re interested, maybe it’s something I can teach you.” He turned and then with a wink he tossed over his shoulder, “Carry on.”

 

Tony disappeared towards the front doors determined to find James and the others now that he had an idea where he might find them (down by the lake), judging by the water on those pants. He'd told them to go play not start a civil war!

 

He’d made it just to the end of the hall before he heard the patter of little feet behind him.

 

He tried not to smirk.

 

~*~

 

Despite his fears Tony did not find Natacha and the others entangled in some mischief. Outside it was a gorgeous day- and had it been Tony he’d have found some way into mountains of trouble by now- but the five little bodies all drifting aimlessly through the courtyard were such a despondent sight that any irritation Tony had felt marching to find them, quickly dissipated.  

 

James, the farthest away, gave Tony and Ian a salty look from his spot by the driveway before turning back to the business of kicking pebbles.

 

The Rogers children truly did not know how to play it seemed. Well, not fully. Artur was dragging a stick about making drawings with Maria but even in that they were far more careful than any five and seven-year-old had a right to be when it came to sticks and dirt.

 

Péter, sitting beneath a tree nearby had his head buried in his arms as he watched Natacha play solitaire with herself. Or perhaps she was simply counting the cards (it was hard to tell). Either way they both looked miserable.

 

And it was at that moment that Tony made a decision that things could not go on as they were. The world might be screwed up but this he could fix. He was good at fixing things.

 

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin when a shrill whistle blew just behind his ear.

 

He turned to find Herr Hammer lowering the whistle and leering at him.

 

“Lunch is ready, Herr Stark.”

 

Well that was petty. He really could have just said so.

 

“Yes, I heard,” he growled as the children passed him, filing back toward the house. Surprisingly Ian stayed by Tony’s side. It might have had to do with the filthy look James shot him but Tony wasn't judging.

 

“After dinner Frau Hogan would like a word with you about the schedule for the remaining week.”

 

Tony shook his head, trying to rid himself of the ringing in his ears. The goblin of a butler only smiled and waited. 

 

“That's fine. Do you have a moment?” Tony asked because once decided he wasn’t one to wait around.

 

“For you Herr Stark, only just” Hammer sneered and Tony bared his teeth in a hard smile.

 

“I need to go into town tomorrow and pick up some items. Fabric and such. If Harold and I can get the car run-” but Hammer didn’t let him finish.

 

 “Fabric? For what? Frau Hogan has already order new fabric for your-.”

 

“-Not for me, for the children.” He interrupted because the faster he got permission the quicker the conversation would be over.

 

“For the children?” Herr Hammer stared at him as if Tony had slowly started to drool.

 

“For play clothes, something they can get dirty.”

 

“The Rogers children don't need play clothes.”

 

Christ on a mule, didn't anyone ever get tired of saying that?!

 

“With the lessons I have planned I think they very much do.”

 

Hammer’s lips puckered like he’d tasted something foul.

 

“Frau Hogan is the one to speak to, Herr Stark, but I warn you she wholeheartedly agrees with me on the matter. There is no need. It would simply be a waste of money.”

 

The butler tilted his head and glared down at Ian. “She's busy now with the mess left in the young Master Rogers room.” For Ian's part he stood his ground but his shoulders hunched and the boy didn't correct the butler, eyes seemingly fixated on the polish of his shoes.

 

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.” He found himself defending, stepping closer to Ian who blinked up at him startled.

 

“It is most certainly not _fine_ Herr stark. He's even gone so far as to tear the curtains. They’ll have to be replaced. And it's not the first time either is it, master Ian?”

 

Ian was as still as a statue, his face going red as he mumbled a reply.

 

“No, Herr Hammer.”

 

“We should keep control of our tempers, shouldn't we? The Captain will be so disappointed.”

 

“Yes, Herr Hammer.” Ian muttered, shoulders sagging and face flushed with shame.

 

“Alright, it's time for lunch you said?” Tony placed his hand on Ian's thin shoulder, guiding him towards the door and away from Hammer’s domineering glower. “That's what I thought I'd heard but my hearings been off, what with all the sharp noises. Ian come along.”

 

He ushered the boy inside and allowed the door to shut in the indignant butler’s face.

 

~*~

 

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. The air of misery that had been hovering all afternoon had not dissipated, settling comfortably over the children's heads like the wettest of blankets. Even Sara seemed to know it was a night to be miserable. The only time any of them had spoken was when Natacha had asked if any word had come from their father.

 

They missed him, in that chronic way that children with absent fathers tended to. It was an ailment Tony had never figured out how to cure.

 

It also might have been why Frau Hogan had started joining them for dinner. Tony didn't think it was a coincidence that she was sat in the captain’s usual seat.

 

She was staunchly ignoring Hammer’s pinched look. Tony could practically hear the butler’s internal screech, aghast at the impropriety. It was not at all the done thing.

 

Tony grinned to himself, sipping quietly from his cup. He knew there was a reason he'd liked her from the gate.

 

Hammer was correct however. He couldn't think of a man, let alone an officer, that allowed their servants to eat at the table with them. Or hug the children.

 

They were an odd family of a sort. Weiss had a place here, as did Pepper. So where did that leave Tony? He ate with the children now due to the captain’s absence but what about when he returned?

 

He wondered if he might be sent to eat in the kitchens. He wouldn’t mind that too terribly. Almost reminiscent of his boyhood, when Hughard would be irritated enough to send him from table and he’d join Rhodey and the maids for their dinner. He’d always been far more comfortable with the servants than at table with his parents and their guests anyway.

 

Yes he’d be just fine with that: regulated to the kitchens with the cook Willamina and the other night staff. It was better there anyway, to be in the kitchens with the room to move about freely without the social constructions of a formal dinner weighing on your shoulders. He’d always hated formal dinners.

 

Only, he’d have to leave the children and stubborn lot that they were he’d likely miss them. And god knew they needed someone to help alleviate the demands on their shoulders. Little Sara barely reached the table.

 

Tony had gotten up to push the small girls plate closer to her (already thinking up ways to add length to her chair legs) when out of the corner of his eye he spotted James stealing a roll from Ian’s plate while his brother’s back was turned. Without much thought beforehand he grabbed the boy’s wrist and plucked the roll from his hand.

 

James blinked up at him in surprise as Tony sat the roll back on Ian's plate without comment, making his way over to Maria who was dragging her elbow in her meat sauce.

 

Tony could feel James glaring at his back but he was fine with it, amused even. He was no stranger himself with stealing food off of other people's plates (fasting had never been Tony's favorite way to applicate The holy father and unfortunately it was all the rage amongst monks) James was just sloppy at it. Fil would have caught James and had him cleaning out the old bee hives in the blink of an eye. And after Ian's show of (admittedly ridiculous) loyalty in taking the fall for James’ tantrum earlier that day, the boy ought to be far more gracious.

 

Pepper, helping Artur to cut his food, watched him, her eyes following Tony about the room. Still sensing James’ glare on his back Tony winked at her and cleared his throat.

 

“James, did you want another roll?”

 

The boy didn’t answer, grinding his teeth mulishly in that (patented, Tony was going to get the damn thing patented) stubborn Rogers way. Next to him Ian was already reaching for his own roll to offer to him and Tony frowned. What was wrong with him? Tony didn't know eleven-year-old’s existed who gave away their food by choice, and Ian’s little brother was terrible to him most of the time. Where on earth had Ian learned to be so self-sacrificing?

 

“Eat your roll, Ian” Tony admonished and Ian’s hand halted halfway to James plate, while the younger boy’s glare intensified.

 

“Jamie boy, you can't steal people's food. That'll get you a black eye, believe you me.”

 

“I wasn't!” James immediately started to protest but Pepper interceded with a stern clearing of the throat and even sterner frown.

 

James sat back in his chair with a sullen pout. And true to form, Ian pushed his untouched roll to the side of his brother’s plate.

 

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

 

Tony finished wiping Maria's arm off and looked over his miserable little crew. It was time to fix this.

 

He should have known it would be a losing battle doing things the captain’s way. Tony was no good at following orders and now look how turned around they all were. Better always, to do things his own way and ask forgiveness later.

 

“So!” Tony plopped back down in his seat, clapping his hands together to gain their attention. “It has come to my attention that I may have a lot to learn about this whole teaching thing. It’s my first time, what can I say? But I’m quick witted. I’ll get the hang of it. In the meanwhile I’m going to need your help.What is it everyone wants to learn?”

 

Everyone, even Pepper, stared at him.

 

“Come on, come on, I know you're all clever little foxes and the material is boring you to tears. It’s boring _me_ , so let’s just toss everything-” noticing Pepper’s glower Tony quickly amended, “that isn’t required by your father that is, not those things surely, but we can toss everything else and design our days around things you’d be interested in learning. So, I’m all ears. What is it you want to learn?”

 

The children watched him with distrust (not that Tony blamed them after their last lesson). Not a single one of them volunteered an answer. 

 

“Herr Stark-” Pepper began but Tony rushed over her.

 

“We'll learn what Germany wants, of course. Can’t shirk the curriculum can we? But if so many hours of the day have to be focused on lessons I see no reason they can’t learn what they want too. Electives, children are allowed some electives aren’t they?”

 

The children in question looked at each other uncertainly but Tony could see the idea taking root. Péter shifted forward in his seat, giving Tony more attention than he had in the last twenty four hours alone. This was good. He could work with this.

 

“It’s your education so it’s your choice. What’ll it be?” Tony asked.

 

Péter wiggled in his seat, words all but battling their way past his closed lips as he tilted his head, eyes questioning.

 

“Chemistry?” he finally offered, hesitantly. “The other governess said I was too young.”

 

“Nonsense. There’s no age requirement for a scientific mind Péter” Tony's response might have come a bit too boisterous (judging by the anxious way Maria jumped in her seat) but he couldn't help the grin that was spreading over his face. “Perfect, Peter!”

 

“You’re a chemist?” Peter asked doubtfully.

 

“No,” Tony answered just as enthusiastically as before. “I mean of course I know of it, I'm just not an expert. But I can become one by the end of the week. You’ll have to excuse the wait time but I’ll have to write to Brother Bruce who has all the books – I doubt your father has a secret stash of chemistry books we don’t know about – and you know how slow the post is. Who’s next?”

 

Péter looked even more doubtful but his answer had stirred the rest of the children.

 

Natacha raised her hand then, snatched it back down, blushing faintly at the ingrained reaction before she straightened regally in her chair.

 

 “Do you know any languages?”

 

“Do I? Anything you want, English, Latin, Greek-”

 

“French,” she interjected with a gleam almost like lust in her eyes. It was the most enthusiastic he'd ever seen her be so of course he couldn’t resist teasing her.

 

“Italian it is!” he crowed and she blinked at him taken aback.

 

“No, I want to learn French” she repeated and, yes, there it was the clenching of the jaw, right on cue (although her version of it had her chin tilted up and lips pressed).

 

“Italian is a beautiful language, much better than French, better than German even. Italian is like spoken water-”

 

“-Herr stark” Pepper said from across the table, again warning him, though there was not much heat behind it.

 

“Pepper have you _heard_ German?” he whined, as if they weren’t currently speaking it.

 

“French,” Natacha insisted stubbornly but she glanced from Pepper to Tony, her eyes narrowed, unsure if he were teasing her. Tony eased up.

 

“How about two for the price of one?” he bargained. Honestly she was the daughter of a German officer, one on the rise at that. She should be fluent in more than German, no matter what the ideology was. It was just logical.

 

Her eyes narrowed even further, “I can learn both?”

 

He hummed as if he were thinking it over when in reality he was dragging up the southern French his mother had drilled into him (he was in for a lot of studying himself it seemed). Natacha waited, her frame humming with suppressed eagerness.

 

“As long as you don’t mind speaking it with an Italian accent I don’t see why not.” And then, just to test a theory he tacked on a dare. “If you think you can that is. It’s a lot to take on.”

 

Her response was immediate.

 

“I can.”

 

Tony grinned at her. He had no doubt that Natacha Rogers could do anything she set her mind to.

 

Artur chose that moment to slap his palm on the table, causing Tony and the rest of the table to jump in alarm.

 

“Susopids!” he demanded eagerly, only for his face to crease into a frown at their blank expressions.

 

“What you said the other night. When father was here. Susopids!”

 

“…Pseudopods?” after a moment of wracking his brain Tony remembered his first night, chattering about the different types of spiders (mostly to get under the Captain's skin) and Artur making a fuss with James. He wouldn't have thought Artur had cared so much to remember the conversation.

 

“Yes, those! I want to learn about spiders! And all the other animals, bugs too!” the boy paused for a quick breath and then added as an afterthought “Please!”

 

In the corner of his field of vision Pepper was shuddering.

 

“Spiders, bugs and all the other animals. Alright, let's start with bees, she'll we?” Tony prayed the answer would appease him because he already had quite a bit of homework for the night.

 

Artur thought it over, his hand traveling to his mouth again. It was a nervous habit that only seemed to come out when Artur was very unsure of himself.

 

Tony opened his mouth intending to reassure him that it was okay to be excited and that his wants and wishes weren’t going to be rejected when James surprised them all. It wasn't so much his interrupting that was the surprise but the quiet volume at which he did it.

 

“Could we make a boat?” he asked, and the gaze he directed at Tony was guarded but for once lacked any sort of anger or dare.

 

 It was a night of miracles.

 

“Like a sail boat?”

 

When he asked this, James nodded and murmured that he liked boats.

 

“Well then you’re in luck. I might have to be an overnight chemist but I am without a doubt the best boat maker in the world.”

 

James tilted his head a small challenging smirk to rival Tony's own slowly easing onto his face.

 

“How do you know you’re the best?”

 

“Well my father, he revolutionized ship building, put Germany on the map, but all of that is just fanfare. He used to say nobody sinks a Stark ship, and that’s how you know we’re the best.”

 

“So your father was the best, but I thought you were a monk… so how do you know you are?” James countered and normally Tony would take all sorts of offense to that (and his smile did go a bit brittle around the edges he had to admit) but he couldn’t deny the open curiosity in James voice, and he didn’t want to ruin what progress he’d made by snapping at the boy and taking out all his issues on him.

 

“Because I might have taken a twenty year vacation to the land of dull and fasting, but I was building boats when I was Sara’s age. It’s in the blood. But I suppose you think I have to prove myself?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The smirk had returned to the boy’s face as he nodded, and Tony snorted shaking his head. Some people had some nerve. And he wasn’t grinning. His mouth had developed a tick that was all.

 

 To distract himself he turned to Ian and asked, “And you?”

 

Ian nodded his head at James and murmured something about liking boats as well, his eyes traveling back to Tony as if it had been a school question.

 

“Okay… but it’s for you. Just for you,” he pried and Ian looked back and forth between Tony and James, uncertain and fidgety as if he were searching for the right answer.

 

Before Tony could put the poor kid out of his misery, Ian was shaking his head and repeating boats.

 

“Ian, you can learn whatever-”

 

“-boats, please.” Ian insisted a touch louder and a lot more stubborn and Tony gave up while he was ahead.

 

“Antony.” Pepper cleared her throat and all eyes turned to where she was standing, smoothing Maria's perfect hair. She nodded encouragingly at the girl urging gently, “Go on Sweetheart.”

 

Tony was still gaping at the housekeepers informal use of his name even as Maria shook her head, looking back at him as if he might grow another head. Then she leaned to her left and whispered something in Artur’s ear and the little boy pinked sticking his hand into his mouth in a nervous gesture.

 

Tony waited, curious as Artur murmured something, his hand still mostly obscuring his mouth but Maria seemed to understand. She nodded hesitantly gaze fixed down at her lap.

 

Artur looked to Tony imploringly and Tony stared back at him in bafflement.

 

“Sorry, I missed that. I don't speak mumbles.”

 

Artur let his hand drop for a moment to answer again and then the tiny object was back into his mouth as if to stop any more words from coming out.

 

She liked music and would like to learn to sing. Tony's mind instantly went back to his first day, how she’d hidden in the music room and how she’d calmed during the storm when he’d taught them all how to yodel.

 

He could work with that.

 

Maria looked at him from under her lashes and muttered something that could have been German. Maybe. Tony highly doubted it.

 

He cupped a hand to his ear, leaning forward and asked her to repeat it (too many years of getting boxed around his ears) and she giggled, ducking her head as she repeated herself. Not that it was much louder, Tony was still at a loss.

 

Artur popped his hand out of his mouth with a groan of aggravation as if Tony were being particularly dense and making things difficult on purpose.

 

“She wants to learn French, Like Tacha, please!”

 

Tony blinked at the five-year-old girl, remembering the book she’d been sounding her way through during his lesson. She’d actually been trying to read it. She clearly comprehended enough to know what French was at least. Clever girl.

 

Pepper chuckled into her napkin and Tony glanced at her, ready to counter her criticism but the woman was looking fondly down at Maria. Though she hastily schooled her features when Maria looked up at her with large brown eyes.

 

“Perhaps you should finish learning to read in German, first? The housekeeper suggested with a poignant look Tony’s way.

 

“What about Italian?” Tony offered, pausing only to roll his eyes right back at Natacha before continuing.  “All the greatest music is in Italian Maria and you’ll want to know how to read it yes?

 

Maria’s eyes widened in delight as she leaned over to whisper excitedly into Artur’s ear. They all watched the boy, who was meticulous marinating his food in his meat sauce, expectantly.

 

“She wants to know if she would sound like Frauline Broise”

 

Tony tried not to heave an aggrieved sigh but it was a near miss. Anina Broise was a fine singer, if you liked lovely and female. Those (unfortunately) where her only qualities. Tony maintained that a woman like her, better than her even, could be found in every lounge or concert hall across the country.

 

She had a superb chest though, which heaved when she sang. Tony, during one of those rare events where Farkas had let him out of the abbey to travel among a contingent of brothers set out to lend aid to the poor and hear the woes of the people (or something of that accord, Tony had been more concerned with how quickly he could slip free) had gotten the chance to see her sing in just such a lounge a number of years ago. Admittedly he'd not paid much attention to her voice so he couldn't begrudge the woman too much of her stardom.

 

But hell if he trained Maria to be nothing more than a forgettable singer with a great chest. She wanted to sing? Tony would train her up into something truly great! No use doing something half way. No doubt his eyes had taken on a mad gleam because Pepper cleared her throat loudly.

 

“Herr Stark. I think something else would be more...appropriate.” Pepper caught his eye shaking her head slightly, a warning that looked far more like sadness in her eyes, and Tony couldn’t miss that he was back to being Herr Stark.

 

“Can you sing?” James questioned him curiously and Pepper's face shuttered a little.

 

“There are so many interesting things out there. Wouldn’t you children rather learn something else?”

 

Tony and the children stared at her. James hesitated and for the first time Tony could remember he shared a worried glance with Ian.

 

Pepper took a sip from her glass and asked if Maria wouldn't like to learn something else, painting perhaps. Which Tony thought was rather presumptuous of her. He could draw well enough, at least when it came to designing boats and machine parts, but he wouldn’t exactly call himself an artist. She had not rejected any of the other children’s suggestions; even Péter’s potentially dangerous notion of learning chemistry so there was no reason to stifle Maria’s hope to learn something of music.

 

Not unless she feared what Captain Rogers would think of it, and Tony knew that was the real reason for her protest. He scowled darkly. The man couldn’t be allowed to _ban_ music for Christ’s sake!

Maria shook her head vigorously, turning from Pepper to Tony.

“No, I want to learn singing. In Italian, please.”

 

The request was loud enough for Tony to hear and his heart jumped a little as she fixed him with her earnest gaze. He couldn’t help the wild grin that split his features.

 

“Of course Honey,” he agreed without a second’s thought.

 

“Her Stark-”

 

Tony cut her off before she could finish. She must be getting so tired of saying his name  like that, he was certainly getting tired of hearing it.

 

“That's all settled then, after your other lessons tomorrow we'll start on your electives.”

 

“And the puppets!” Artur reminded him with a shout of glee. “Maria can sing while we have the show!”

 

Dear god, he'd all but forgotten the promised puppets.

 

From across the table Pepper smirked into her drink, the glass making her teeth appear shark like.

 

“Yes, Antony. You can't forget the puppets.”

 

~*~

_Herr Stark,_

_I appreciate your dedication to my orders. I had begun to think that the brothers at St. Péter’s had embraced the teaching of the Protestants, what with your talent for interpreting commands however it pleases you. This one you followed to the letter and with admirable skill. I don’t think you missed a minute of the children’s daily activities. And good thing! Where would I be without such attention to detail? Artur’s mouse was 220 millimeters long? That is large for a house rodent and I can well imagine how long he must have mucked about in the garden to catch it._

_No doubt he has ruined another set of clothing. I should be angry about that, but I find it hard to be angry in the face of my longing for home. I do miss them Stark. You have indicated on several occasions that I am too hard a father. If that is so, it is only because I wish the best for them. There is an advantage to good breeding that I myself did not have. I know the value of it even if they do not._

_I love Austria with all my heart and proudly call myself her son; but there is great discomfort in being paraded as a symbol of Austrian purity. It is a lie told to sell more lies._

_While I have always known that the components of my blood did not reveal any measure of my character, I remember a time when every name but Austrian was granted to me and I would not have been welcome to dine at my own table, let alone with the statesmen you so disdained in your last letter. There was some strife between myself and my late wife’s family the first few years of our acquaintance. No one could stomach a Von Trap girl taking up with a crass soldier quite literally born in the gutter; but my Peggy, she was always a woman of her own mind._

_Margit was, in so many ways, my saving grace and I often find myself at a loss without her. War changes you in ways that are hard to dictate on paper- and as we head into another I can only ache for the boy I was before all this madness. It will seem absurd to a man of your upbringing I’m sure, but if not for her and the children, I’d trade every scrap of wealth I have to return to my boyhood in Nowy Sacz. For all that we lacked, we were rich in other ways. Men knew the value of their lives and the fickle nature of liberty. Never forget Herr Stark that she is wild, and must be held tightly or else she vanishes._

_I digress, forgive me. I cannot answer at present when I shall return but I hope you will relay to the children my well wishes._

_Sincerely,_  
_Captain Stefen Gavril Rogers._

 

~*~

The children’s lessons had improved but there was no easy solution for the heat of the schoolroom, the length of the days, or the fact that with each day that passed the children missed their father more. Tony’s last letter from the Captain had been both surprising in its candidness and frustrating in the contradictions it continued to present him in regards to the captain’s character. He’d not expected Rogers to take his antics with such humor, nor to accept Tony’s thinly veiled criticism with such grace. He had definitely not expected Rogers to open up about anything personal. But for some inexplicable reason Stefen (Stefen Gavril Rogers) had seemed to find Tony’s rebellion funny (one might even have called his tone teasing in return) and for some reason even more inexplicable he’d chosen to share thoughts that Tony seriously doubted he’d shared with anyone else.

Stefen’s words (and it was so hard now not to think of him as Stefen) while not exactly riot inciting, were certainly despairing of the country’s direction, which nowadays was as good as treason.  If the letter had gotten into the hands of anyone else within the Reich… if Tony even had been more of a nationalist, Rogers might very well have found himself arrested. Perhaps he expected that his fame would protect him some, but nonetheless he had written dangerous words and it was baffling to Tony that he’d entrusted them to Tony of all people (Rogers didn’t even like him!). Was it learning that he was a Stark? Had Hughard been that much of a hero to him?

The thought didn’t sit well. But then again, Tony thought as he glanced out over the double row of small heads bent over their notebooks. Rogers had entrusted him already with far more. Perhaps it was as simple as that.

Tony tucked the letter back into the pocket of his trousers (that’s three times now he’d read it, one would think it was some great literature) grimaced at the heat, and then decided once more that it was time to take action and end all their misery.

The children were relieved to end that days lesson early (French verbs) and trudged from the room, no doubt eager to find cooler spaces. Tony set out for the maids quarters, newly resolved in his mission, because while it was all well and good for the children to be well bred little darlings with the right education to succeed in the world, someone had to see to their crumbling spirits; or else they would become the worst sort of adults the kind without any sort of imagination or hunger for the world- dull in other words. Tony hated dull people above all else.

It was far past time they got another of their electives underway and Tony thought that a little engineering lesson wouldn’t go amiss what with the puppets and boats in their future, but to get the right materials he’d need to go into town and since Hammer had already made it clear Tony wasn’t to use up Harold’s time with ‘frivolous nonsense’ he supposed he was going to have to hike it. Town wasn’t far by automobile but it was too far otherwise not to make a day of it. For that he’d have to take the children with; which in turn meant they were going on an outing. Tony had grand plans for the bikes he’d seen in the garage gathering dust (and for the ride along seat they were going to have to make for Sara) and by god they were going to have some clothes they were free to ruin if it killed him!

True Hammer had also denied him any extra fabric; but Tony was not called brilliant for nothing.

And that is why Natacha found him hours later stooped over a table in the day room transforming the curtain’s Hammer had instructed the maids to throw away after James’ fit into seven pairs of matching jumpers.

He didn’t hear her come into the room, perhaps because he was so focused on his stitches (stitching was not his favorite activity). One of these days he was going to invent a better machine to do it. Husqvarna was great and all but there had to be a way to increase the speed and dexterity of the needle, and some way to keep the fabric in place and turn it about (like a second pair of hands). Wouldn’t that be something? It would have to recognize shapes and lines to be fully functional. Why it would practically have to think for itself…

So you see, he was deep in thought when Natacha suddenly appeared at his elbow and hummed deeply in disapproval.

“What is that?”

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin. He stifled a curse as the jerking of his hands jammed the needle, effectively ruining the seam he’d been working on.

“Natacha!” He admonished, glaring at the girl who had appeared from nowhere to loom over the desk like a phantom in a magazine. “A little warning. I nearly lost a finger.”

But Natacha only had eyes for the stack of royal blue jumper’s he’d already completed, her brow burrowing deeply in displeasure as she grabbed the one on the top of the pile and examined it closely.

“What are these?” She asked again, though it was obvious she already knew.

“These are your new play clothes.” Tony informed her distractedly as he worked at freeing the fabric.

 “These are curtains,” She decried haughtily. “You can’t dress us in curtains. Father would be furious.”

“Your father will hardly know the difference-” Tony began, but to his shock the girl bristled like she’d been jabbed and dropped the jumper she held to the floor as if Tony hadn’t spent the greater part of the morning slaving away on it.

“Why? Because you think he isn’t coming back?! Then you are a bigger fool than I thought! He _is_ coming back and when he does I’m going to tell him how you said we were stupid and how you tried to make us wear curtains!”

“ _Tacere!”_ Tony barked. Natacha had worked herself up: the young woman’s face gone flushed and her whole body stiff as she glared at him with hands on hips but the command stilled her; though the tips of her red braids continued a fine tremble.

Tony opened his mouth – to demand to know what that had been about, to defend himself (he’d never called the children stupid he would _never_ ) to ask what had gone so terribly wrong in the space of hours for Natacha to behave this way – when the sound of running footsteps drew both their eyes to the door and Ian came bolting in, terror plastered across his face.

“Herr Stark, Herr Stark! You have to come. Come on!” Ian fell against the door as he shouted, waving frantically at them both and Tony’s heart leaped into his throat. He was demanding to know what had happened even as he and Natacha went rushing for the door.

It was Artur. Ian and the others had been playing outside. Ian had been practicing drills and Péter had wandered off when Harry had shown up with a telegram. Artur and Maria had wandered down to the lake without anyone noticing until Maria had started screaming. Artur was throwing some sort of fit, trying to drag Maria into the water. Neither child could swim.

When Tony reached the lake (Natacha and Ian running after him) his heart was pounding so fiercely within his chest he feared it would burst. The sight that met him was strange and terrifying. Artur – red face twisted up in rage – was wrestling with his younger sister, scratching at her and attempting to pull her by her hair as he screamed insults at her. Maria was wailing at the top of her lungs, curled into a protective ball as James attempted to pry the younger boy from off her back.

Tony had no idea what could possess the boy to behave in such a way, especially towards Maria whom he normally seemed so close with, but all he could think about as he grabbed the boy by the waist and yanked him away from his sister was the terror in Maria’s eyes.

Brown, wet with tears, and wide as saucers in her dirt streaked face: and suddenly he was back in that wood, peering through the leaves as he watched those police men beat Yinsen into the dirt, the white of his eyes going pink with blood as they struck him over and over again.

“Smettila! Stop it right now!” Tony barked in a frantic mix of German and Italian, his ears ringing loudly with the sounds of the children’s cries and Yinsen’s shrieks of pain. He felt ill, overcome with a sense of vertigo as he struggled to hold onto the boy’s writhing form. The boy lashed out with his feet, kicking Tony solidly in the shins and Tony cursed, his grip loosening just enough for Artur to slip from his hold; but it was not Maria he ran towards but the water.

He was shouting something, his voice warbled and broken on a sob so that it took Tony a moment to recognize it for what it was.

Mon ami. My friend in French (the French they’d been learning only hours ago). Artur, headless of his inability to swim had gone striding into the water, continuing to call out in French. He’d nearly gotten up to his waist by the time that Tony caught up with him, the mud and grime of the silty lake bed sucking at his shoes and billowing upward to cloud the water.

“Mon Ami!” Artur shouted, reaching desperately toward the water’s edge as Tony hauled him back to the shoreline. “Mon Ami!”

“Artur!” Tony let the boy drop onto the grass with a heave and a thud, gasping for breath and trying to blink the spots from his eyes. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t a scared boy in the woods anymore. Yinsen wasn’t here. Yinsen didn’t need him anymore because Yinsen was dead. These children needed him.

“Artur what the hell is the matter with you!”

It went suddenly and starkly silent as Artur blinked up at him – stricken as if Tony had slapped him instead of merely shouted – shoulders hitching with aborted sobs.

When the boy didn’t speak Tony turned his head, laboring for breath to demand of James who had rushed to the boy’s side when Tony had dumped him into the grass “What the _devil_ happened?!”

James swallowed nervously and licked his lips before he mumbled out a reply.

“…Artur caught a frog.”

“A frog!” Tony demanded. How the hell was this business about a frog?!

“He’s been showing it off for hours,” Natacha kneeling in the dirt with Maria’s head on her lap murmured in agreement and bolstered James nodded.

“He made it a little house… out of sticks. I think Maria was jealous because she kicked it over.”

“Am I to understand that you nearly killed your sister over a frog!” Tony glared down at Artur, and he had to struggle not to shout or reach down and start shaking him. And Tony could only watch as the boy’s face twisted up once more, this time in anguish as he crumpled once more into heartbroken tears.

“H-he was m-my friend! H-he wasn’t s-supposed to _leave._ ”

It wasn’t the explanation that drained Tony’s anger and left him feeling wrung, because that remained ridiculous (the idea that Artur could hurt his sister in such away over something as silly as a pet frog he’d owned for all of a few hours infuriating). It was the way Artur sobbed the word leave as if all he knew was the sting of abandonment (as if everyone he’d ever loved had left him).

To Artur, Tony knew, it had to seem like the truth. First his mother, now Sam, and his father left them over and over again (for a week with no end).

Tony knelt, hoisting the small boy into his arms with a grunt. Artur thankfully did not lash out this time and when he wrapped his thin arms around Tony’s neck and clung -burying his tear stained face into his shirt and just wept - Tony shuddered, holding him all the tighter.

“Shhh” he soothed rubbing the boy’s back as he began the long trudge toward the house. He gestured for the others to follow and they did, silently, Natacha carrying a now silently crying Maria. “Shh. It’s alright now.”

It was a lie. But Tony was determined more than ever to make it true.

~*~

The children did not see Tony for the rest of the afternoon or even at dinner, though the maids heard all manner of banging and clanging coming from the garage. Pepper would not tell them where he had gone, but they heard her mumbling to one of the maids something about curtains and frogs.

The reason for Tony’s disappearance was simple. Building a frog tank was easy (just a matter of cutting wood, pounding nails, and constructing a latched top with a grate) and only required the sacrificing of the broken clock.  Catching frogs was a lot harder and had never been something Tony had done much of as a boy to begin with and he wasn’t particularly skilled at it now as an adult. It took him far longer than he’d anticipated to catch one of the damn things that fit what shaky description James and Ian could provide. So long, that by the time he made his way to the room that Artur shared with James and Ian Pepper had already put the children to bed for the night.

When Tony walked up, tired wrinkled and wet it was to catch the hems of Natacha and Maria’s nightgowns slipping through the boy’s bedroom door. Curios, Tony approached as quietly as he could to peek through the door they’d left slightly ajar.

Artur was sitting up in his bed, Maria curled up beside him speaking too lowly for Tony to hear but the muscles in his chest tightened when Maria slipped her arms around her brother’s middle and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Thinking it an opportune time to present his gift Tony knocked and the children all turned as one to stare with apprehension as he pushed open the door.

“We’re going to bed,” Ian hastily reassured him even as Natacha laid a protective hand on Artur’s head.

“Maria couldn’t sleep, thinking Artur was still angry with her,” she informed Tony crisply, as if that were the end of the matter.

“Oh I’m sure,” Tony went along with it cheerfully enough.  “And that’s funny; because I know someone else who couldn’t sleep thinking Artur was mad at him.”

At that moment the frog Tony had spent his entire evening trapping for a life of capture (poor bastard) chose that moment to croak and Artur shot up like a rocket.

“Mon Ami!” He exclaimed, scrambling so fast over the comforter he nearly slipped and toppled off the bed.

“You found him! He came back!” the little boy shouted excitedly, rushing up to Tony with hands extended eagerly. Tony held the habitat out of reach and made a shushing sound.

“Shh quiet. If you wake Pepper we’ll all be in trouble.”

 Artur pressed his lips tightly shut as he accepted the wooden box from Tony, almost too small for it as he immediately had to set it down. The effort at quietness was ruined by how eagerly he bounced on his toes breathing heavily with barely contained excitement and by the excited exclamations of the other children as they gathered around it. In the habitat Mon Ami croaked and Maria giggled. Artur jumped up and down in place and said in the loudest whisper Tony had ever heard, “Mon Ami is the best frog ever! And now he has a house so he won’t get lost.”

“Yes, next time choose some wiser materials than sticks if you’re going to be building frog houses,” Tony drawled. “But listen, come here _bambino,_ ” Tony beckoned, mouth turning a grave line as Artur reluctantly left his prize and came to stand before him.

“You should be ashamed of how you treated your sister today. She’s small, and fragile, not unlike Mon Ami over there. I know you were sad and angry about losing your friend, but I hope you love Maria more than you ever could any pet.” Artur nodded earnestly and bit the lip that had begun to tremble. Tony felt bad for him but continued on.

 “Well you didn’t show her that today, not at all and it’s lucky that you’re both small and don’t have a lot of room in you for big grudges because she’s really forgiving. But before you think you’ve gotten off easy just remember it’s no desert for a week and early bed. Pepper and I have already discussed it.”

Rather than pout or protest as Tony half expected Artur nodded and fell against him. Tony jerked as Artur’s arms wrapped around him and squeezed.

The boy didn’t say a word, just holding on as if Tony were the last fixture on earth. But then again, Tony thought as his hand’s smoothed the blond hair sticking up atop his head, maybe they’d said it all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn more about what Steve was up to in Vienna and discover that Steve is neither the shining picture of Aryan supremacy that the government likes to tote nor is he anything close to as put together as he appears. But we knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please see the changes in the tags. We've added a warning for PTSD and its symptoms because for some reason it had not occurred to us that this might be triggering.
> 
> Also, due to computer loss and working off an outdated set of notes several details (mainly some points in geography, physical descriptions, and the children's ages) got muddied in the last chapter. We've corrected them, but thought we'd give a heads up. You're not crazy.
> 
> Lastly see the notes at the end for a little helpful translation and some background on Steve and Bucky.

“That's where my father used to sell bread, after he left Malta. He’d bring leftovers home and crack the crust for me at night.” Sam recounted, pointing out the window to an abandoned shop. They watched it pass in silence, and it seemed the rattle and shake of the car as it rolled down the street spoke louder than words.

Since first sight of the city Sam had become strangely talkative for a man who had stayed up into the early hours drinking with the staff. Despite his familiarity with the city Sam gave Steve the gran tour, as if these weren’t streets he’d walked a million times. The words seemed to trickle from him without stop, the pained pause coming every now and then when the automobile gave a particularly harsh rattle, the indication of a headache.

It had started with places: people Sam had known and Steve through Sam. Stories upon stories comprising eleven years of friendship, well worn by retelling; and it had slowly branched out into a life that Sam had lived before coming to work for him, that Steve was realizing, too late to do anything about, that he’d known very little of.

As they past shops, practices, parks, and places Steve had known since he was a very young soldier (places Sam had known since he was a boy) Sam pointed them out. He told Steve about the underground music clubs (a motley crew of musicians and other passionate fools playing with the jazz sound coming out of America to hear him tell it), the first shop he’d ever delivered to after he’d followed his father from the farm his family worked, the first place he'd ever taken a girl (Der Nachtfalter nightclub) and the alley behind a shop where he and his friends used to go for a haircut (a clerk named Einar would cut their hair for a krone each, one after the other after his shift).

Steve sat quietly listening as Sam unwrapped his childhood. Most of the time he seemed aware that Steve was listening, other times Steve might as well have been part of the scenery.

It reminded Steve of his mother in the later days of her life. Steve had taken his three oldest boys to the coast with Sara shortly before she's died. She'd been ill for quite some time with a fever; the same that would infect him and later take Peggy.

His mother had wanted to see the sea and Steve always wondered now if she might not have known she wasn’t going to get better. She'd talked just like this, murmuring story after countless story as she sat beside him on the train, pointing out sights for the boys until eventually losing her voice. Just like Sam she’d spun tales from her girlhood and all the different places she'd called home before she'd met Steve's father and then finally, just as her voice had faded, about the first woman who had died in her arms, no older then Steve was now. She'd unwrapped her memories just so, her precious things, gently leaving them for Steve to pick up and keep safe.

Someone had to hold the proof that they had been there; they had lived.

Next to him Sam took a breath, pausing for the first time in a while and Steve caught sight of a familiar cafe, the same one he had met Virginia in all those years ago. The Rembrandt was closed now, boarded up with a large yellow Star of David painted over its windows.

Steve looked away, feeling sick.

Sam’s gaze lingered on the shop before he dropped his arm from the open window, keeping it safe inside the automobile, jostling the box of Wilamina’s blinners in his lap.

“That was a long time ago. I don't think I know this place anymore,” Sam finally said into the silence with a heavy sigh and Steve frowned, turning to counter him as outside the train station came into view down the block.

“It's still Vienna, Sam. It's still Austria.”

He wasn't sure if that was a hundred percent true, if the country he had loved and bled for was still unchanged in its heart, but he still hoped. What else was there to do?

Sam snorted, his eyes traveling over empty stores and their facades littered with Reich propaganda but he was silent on the issue the short distance to the station and Steve was grateful for it.

Together they exited and as Steve lugged Sam’s bags from the boot of the car he regret refusing Sam’s offer to help as his ribs violently protested. He was hunched over, taking a pinched breath when his eyes fell on a man a few yards away.

The man, smartly dressed in a long coat and hat, watched them closely, lifting a cigarette to his mouth, eyes intent.

Steve's insides went cold. The man continued to watch him well aware that Steve could see him.

  
***

Sam stayed silent through the emigration line and only seemed to start back to life when the officer at the desk demanded his papers with a pointed jab.

Steve watched from by the door, keeping out of the way.

There was nothing wrong in nature with a man seeing his long time employee off on the train, but in these times there was nothing quite right about it either when that employee looked like Sam. It was frustratingly stupid, in Steve’s opinion but he had a dangerous letter on his person and the children to think of. That man outside had been watching so closely, it still gave Steve the shivers to remember it.

A few people in the station were shooting him curious looks, no doubt wondering where they had seen him before. Luckily most everyone seemed inclined to keep their own heads down, ignoring each other mostly, shuffling in line, bags lined along their sides at their feet, children crying or chattering to their parents, bodies packed together in the tiny space. So many yellow stars among them. In this room, it was easy to get the impression all of Vienna was leaving.

Steve wiped at his neck, sweat dripping into the gap of his shirt collar. He wished they would hurry with Sam, there were too many bodies, not enough air. There was never enough air.

Unable to bear it a moment longer Steve started for the door, almost knocking an elderly man over on his way out. He swore under his breath as his bruised ribs flared in protest, making a grab at the man's shoulders before the man could tumble to the floor. The man, stooped with a broad work darkened face, grunted in pain and snapped at him in accented German.

Steve dropped his hands and took a step back.

“Przepraszam,” Steve babbled the apology, cringing as the foreign words leaped off his tongue and the man’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Too much dwelling on the past. He had slipped.

In proper German this time Steve gentled his voice and tried to ask after the old man’s welfare.

“Are you all-”

“No, no it's all right!” The man interrupted in Polish, similar in cadence to what the people of Nowy Sącz had spoken. His expression, which had been a frown so deep it had nearly creased his entire face, had gone slack in surprise and Steve didn’t know whether it was because he’d been knocked over by ‘the famous’ Captain Rogers or because said Captain had apologized in his native tongue.

“It's all right, sir. Captain Rogers.”

Steve stiffened as the two women closest to them perked in interest at his name. He nodded stiffly at them, biting out another apology as he made his exit.

Outside wasn't much better but there was less heat and press of bodies. Steve felt his breath come just a little easier. He looked out over the heads of people up at the swooping arches. He'd painted this station once, had at least a dozen sketches of it, yet as he looked out at the throng of people all jostling with their luggage and papers, their faces long and dark, olive and short, rosy white, a pallets of people all leaving Vienna, he couldn't help but think back to Sam’s words in the car.

He’d been right. Steve didn't recognize this place anymore.

Sam’s voice called out to him from across the tracks, prompting Steve to straighten up and look for him. He wasn't hard to find standing out amidst a group of pale faces lining up to board the train.

Steve made his way to the other side to where Sam waited, the trains steam pushing thick though the air between them.

“I guess this is goodbye, Stefen.” Sam began after a moment of thick silence.

Steve nodded struck by the sudden urge to touch Sam, to snatch hold of his coat sleeve and keep him there.

Sam lowered his hat, the brim obscuring his face and held out his hand. In fourteen years Steve couldn't remember shaking Sam’s hand, except perhaps during his initial hire. It felt hollow now, shaking his hand in thank you for his service as a grounds keeper and not as the friend he'd been.

Steve shook his hand, hoping the message came across anyway.

“I'll write you with Falsworth’s response, but I do wish you’d give it to me Captain.”

Quietly, not trusting the bustle of the station to completely mask their conversation Steve whispered, “I can’t risk it. Give Falsworth my message and have him contact Frau D’anvers. Tell them I’ll get the letter to them as soon as I can.”

Sam’s mouth twisted into a grimace and he continued in a whisper, “Have you thought this through? You stole from General Schmidt, a commanding officer!”

“I remember.” Steve interrupted, mindful of watching eyes and ears too close to them.

“This is getting bigger then either one of us,” Sam was insisting and Steve stepped closer, putting a hand on Sam’s bag to keep him from moving away.

“Which is why I need you to reach Falsworth. I'm in no position to be passing out leaflets.” And if he were honest he wouldn't if he could. Austria could not rely on the O5 alone. They needed a plan of attack. Civil unrest wouldn’t be enough anymore. “If we, if I do this, I do this all the way. There is no middle ground, you know that.”

Sam shook his head, his jaw twitching as he clenched it tight. He reached up and grabbed Steve's shoulder. “You know how I feel. This is my home, Stefen. I want to save it too but... look around you Captain. I'm not sure there's much left to save.”

The whistle blew behind them, the conductor's voice cutting through the crowd.

Steve stepped back, letting Sam's hand fall limp to the man's side, gaining much needed space.

“Someone has to save what’s left,” Steve called to Sam’s back as the other man grabbed a hold of the railing, hopping the little step and leaned out to yell over the noise.

“It doesn't have to be you. You have the children to think about!”

The train began to move, slowly squealing it's way out of the station. He jogged alongside Sam as the train picked up speed. “I am thinking about them.” he insisted.

“You'll get yourself killed! It's not safe to be who you are anymore.”

Something in Steve lurched, an unnamed fear awakening in his chest and he stumbled in surprise, swearing under his breath. Sam could not possibly know what Steve really was. He’d kept it close and locked away. He’d done everything, he was sure of it, to hide his difference.

“Soldiers are the first on the line and it's not just you this time” Sam hollered over the noise of the slowly moving train and Steve felt suspended, light headed in an unfamiliar way.

Sam had meant as a soldier. Of course. What else could he have meant? Nobody knew about the other thing.

Steve slowed, unable keep his pace, his ribs screaming at him to stop jogging.

He was jostled by the crowd of people running and waving as the train picked up speed carrying away their loved ones.

Steve, hoping Sam could still see him in that crush of bodies, lifted his hand in farewell. He saw Sam nod, almost imperceptibly, and his heart sank heavily into his chest.

“Look after yourself!” He yelled, throat tight. “Write!”

Sam saluted him and then turned to disappear inside the train, leaving Steve standing on the platform feeling disjointed. He wondered for the hundredth time if he was making the right decision by staying in Austria.

He’d been struggling with the decision to send the children away. He'd heard of people in the countryside taking in children. England, France, Switzerland , they were even making a profit out of it. While he knew it was perhaps bitterness that caused him to think so ungraciously, he could not think on the prospect with anything but.

The Kindertransport was for children in direr states than his own and would require splitting the them up. Families couldn't support seven children, and Steve, he just couldn't bring himself to separate them. There was still time to think of something else. It wasn't just his selfish desire to keep them close either. His mind drifted back to Strikers letter. He and the children were in a glass box, much like Artur's insects, afforded little privacy when they were so needed to perform in the governments parade.

They wanted people to believe in the Reich, to believe that the heart of Austria was untouched and that every citizen should be proud to give their lives for their new German masters. It said too much if the Rogers family did not play the part.

Every move they made was watched and Steve did not put it above Striker to intervene if word got out too early that Steve was planning on sending the children abroad.

He was making the right choice, keeping them together and appeasing the government where he could. They’d accept that Steve preferred the children be educated privately and they would find no fault in his choice of instructors.

Stark had been a lucky choice in tutors. Unconventional perhaps, but the power behind his name was irrefutable. The Stark’s had shaped industry, been almost the sole foundation of Germany’s economy after the loss of the Great War. If Steve was a symbol of Austrian strength than Antony Stark was the last living symbol of German resilience.

If he could somehow attain the man’s loyalty and get him to adhere to some semblance of sense, Steve knew that there was a chance the children might come out of this unscathed. It was something to believe in surely, a reason to keep fighting.

Because Sam was wrong about one thing. This was still home and a home was something to be defended. Steve would have to save it, and if he couldn't, well then, he'd have to avenge it.

 

~**~*~**~

 

Steve checked into the hotel that night and stayed in, the letter continuing to burn a hole in his pocket and his anxiousness to be rid of it only growing. The next morning he woke late from a fitful sleep and after telephoning the house to check in with Virginia on the welfare of the children he made his way to the Cafe Mozart in leopoldstadt where he was to meet Bucky. The coffeehouse was crowded with noonday patrons when Steve walked in. As the bell above the door chimed a familiar face looked up and started at the sight of him.

Kurt Dobas still had the beady eyes of a fox (not to mention the hair to match) and the man’s wide mouth split into a shark toothed grin.

“Captain Rogers! I can’t believe my eyes. It’s been years.”

Whether he meant to or not Cafe Mozart’s head host straightened his back with near military precision. Though Steve was sure he would have achieved full attention if his old injury would have let him.

It was impossible to see underneath the man's coal black uniform and crisp white shirt but Steve knew that if removed, it would reveal the long puckered scar that wrapped around Kurt’s body from navel to shoulder blade. A gruesome parting gift courtesy of the shoddy engineering of a mountain gun. Kurt hadn’t been the only soldier to kiss death that way.

Kurt bobbed on the balls of his feet and lowered his head to whisper somewhat dramatically, “I thought you’d be on tour. Otherwise I can’t see why you haven't come for a cup, Captain.”

Steve let himself a small smile though, trust Kurt to start straight in on the subject Steve was least comfortable with. Dobas had always been implosive, hotheaded and much too eager for good time and glory for Steve’s tastes. Even now Steve wasn't sure if Kurt had missed his company or the customers he brought in.

It felt uncharitable to think it. Dobas had a living to make as much as anyone, and not all the men in Steve’s unit had been as lucky as he was. He’d been decorated, paid handsomely for his contributions, and paraded like a hero to keep the civilians moral up while Austria rebuilt itself, while men like Dobas had been left to gather the pieces of their lives with next to nothing but their names.

Steve had helped with the rebuild, pouring his efforts into social reform while navigating the turbulent waters of Austria’s fractured government; but he’d always felt as if he should have done more. Peggy had warned him he’d run himself into the grave carrying the world on his shoulders, and in the back of his mind he’d privately thought she’d be right. He still wished sometimes that she had been, and that the damned fever would have taken him and not her.

Kurt grinned.

“shame on you, sir, If you’re not here when you’re not on tour I don’t know what you’re doing, clearly not living’

“I've been away, caring for my children. Colonel Phillips has been so kind as to give me leave to look after them.” Steve corrected, shortly.

Despite Steve’s agitation Kurt’s grin didn't waver. He waved a hand dismissively prattling, “That’s lovely. Gets you out of being shot at, doesn’t it. I should to have had seven myself.”

Steve had been called many things in his life but never once a cowered.

“I don't hide behind the cradles of my children,” he snapped.

This time Dobas couldn't miss the ice in his voice but the problem was Kurt had never been good at guessing when his charm had run out.

“I know Heil, Hitler!” He gave Steve a mocking salute and Steve tried not to snarl.

“One nation, one empire one leader! But a man’s got to stop and have drink and enjoy himself now and again yes? You ought to bring the children next time, they’ll love-”

“They haven't time either. I’ll need a table, Dobas.” Steve interjected, his voice earring on the side of military command. Kurt blinked at him, taken aback by his brusk tone, but thankfully even he had been too long a soldier not to hop to when spoken to in that tone by a commanding officer.

“Yes, yes of course, Captain.”

The thin man moved showed Steve to his usual spot, in the back near the east facing the windows. Even though it had been years since he’d occupied it something in Steve was relieved to see it unchanged. Kurt clasped his hands in front of him, leaning on the balls of his feet as if ready to take flight and asked with a painted smile if Herr Bakhuizen was to join him. The smile didn’t falter, when Steve gave a curt nod.

“I'll bring a plate of apfelstrudel” Kurt announced brightly walking away with a pep in his step. So it was the celebrity then and not his company, that had brightened Kurt’s day. While Kurt had tolerated Steve as his commanding officer he'd never gotten on well with Bucky.

Steve sat, heaving a breath as his ribs protested. The pain was good, he reminded himself, a needed reminder of the dangers of his situation. It would be so easy to forget, lulled into a false sense of security by the familiar and therefor comforting sights and sounds of the cafe.

The cafe crowd was mostly made up of artists, musicians, free thinkers. Most of them young people, university students who didn't know any better or care if they were seen in the leopoldstadt district, crowded as it was with Jews. The owners weren’t Jewish or gypsy to Steve's knowledge but it didn't really matter when the Reich was cracking down on places like this. Where passion and free thoughts were free to flow rebellion often sprung.

Cafe Mozart was one of the few coffee houses still open in the second district and given how much time they’d spent there in his youth Steve knew it was a risk to meet Bucky there; but he figured though it wasn't ideal the cafe with its crowded cushioned seats and constant din of conversation was a good place to get lost in.

Steve settled himself into a position that didn’t make his ribs ache quite so much and let the scent of coffee beans and baked bread sooth him. Had it really been three years since he’d sat at their little table in the back like this? He could still remember the night that he and Bucky had boarded the train from Nowy Sącz, or _Novyj Sanc_ as their tickets had read, and made the trip to Vienna for the first time.

They’d spent a few months trying to find recruiting officers dumb enough to believe they were past the age of eighteen or desperate enough to pretend that they did. And by then Austria had been desperate. Steve was sure that the only reason it had taken them as long as it had to be accepted was because of how desperately young (not to mention skinny) Steve had looked at thirteen. But the war had changed them all. People were starving, especially in Galicia where people had been starving long before the war had even begun. They were too hungry even to fear the Russian’s guns.

Their little band of Bayash had dwindled to almost nothing, ravished by famine and disease and trampled under the feet of both occupying and defending armies. He and Bucky had seen one of the uncles killed over a loaf of bread…

The Monarchy had promised social reform, a new and better world for all of them, special privileges and full Austrian citizenship to soldiers and their families. Bucky had wanted to feed his father and sisters. Steve had wanted to be less of a burden to his mother, but more prevalent was the memory of his father reminding him of the proud history of Austria and the men who had fought to make it so. He had wanted to do his part in ushering in that brave new world the Habsburg’s had promised. He’d believed in it.

He’d still believed in it, even after the war was lost and the Monarchy in exile. He and Bucky had gone back to leopoldstadt after the war to celebrate their survival. They’d lived (when so many others had died) they couldn’t sleep at night but by god they could drink, and laugh, and kiss pretty women when so many of their brothers could not say the same. They’d barely slept, going from theater house to jazz club each night. Stuffing their senses with music, color, and flesh, and when all of that failed them the best liquor their pensions could buy them.

At least at first. For Steve the liquor had not soothed, the sweet sting of bile sour in his mouth reminding him too much of his father. It felt like a defeat drinking his nights away in such a way and he’d found better solace in his artwork; and it had the added bonus of bringing in more coin to send home to his mother. He’d sketched the entire district at one point. He’d been awestruck by the staggering height of the churches, the access to paint, music and food at every turn. It was a kind of paradise in its own way, a land of freedom and plenty, and for the first time he had felt pride in all that he had done. He’d fought for this, all of it, and it had been good.

He’d intended to live out his days here… looking out the window over the familiar architecture and the apartments squeezed wherever they could fit, he even imagined he might have been happy. But then the army had asked him to do a promotional tour and Philips had brought to him his concerns for the state of the country with Austria’s fragile new government and no police force or real army to speak of. Steve had seen no other way forward but to do his part. And then, while on tour, Margrit had come along and Steve had found happiness in measures he’d never dreamed of. Home to him became Salzburg with Peggy and she’d taken home with her when she'd left.

The rattle of dishes startled Steve out of his dark memories. He glanced up as Kurt placed a cup and saucer down in front of him.

“On the house, Captain,” the host said with a wink. “It’s good to have you back.”

Steve looked down into the large steaming cup and frowned. It made sense that Kurt would bring him his old favorite, but the smell of whipped cream and espresso curdled his stomach.

Einspanner was firmly set in a part of his life that was staunchly labeled ‘Before Peggy Died’ and he'd allowed himself little comfort since then. How that had happened he wasn't sure. If Stark were there Steve was sure he’d have something cutting to say about it; but Steve really hadn't woken up one day and thought, ‘I’ll never have espresso and cream again, to hell with chocolate!” it had just happened. Little things that reminded him of her: a certain song, the path he would take to the gardens at home, his room, the children. All the little things adding into big things until Steve hardly recognized himself.

The cafe was familiar and cozy hardly showing the strain of the times and yet Steve, seated in what was once a second home, felt out of place.

He forced himself to look up and smile at Kurt, sure it was falling flat, but Kurt nodded at him anyway in gratitude and swooped his way back to the front.

Steve sat, swiveling his spoon in his drink but couldn't bring himself to lift it to his mouth. Instead he thought about how he was going to explain to Bucky about the letter and how he was going to get Bucky on board with helping him stop the German army, which would mean in turn betraying their own country.

Bucky'd had Steve’s back from the first day they’d met. Sara and her odd little family had settled outside a new town, joining up with a small caravan of Bayesh, thankful at not being turned away when they could not fail to note her husband was _gajo_. One day his mother had left him with Bucky’s mother when it was her turn to sell at market. Rachel had sat Steve down with Bucky and told Bucky to look out for him because Steve was small and sick and Bucky would not be happy if a 'little brother' were to die.

Bucky, healthy, loud and presumably endeared with the way Steve followed him around their camp like a puppy, had taken the task to heart. The uncles had laughed and asked Bucky who his little gajo friend was and he’d declared that Steve wasn’t a gajo but his prala.

They’d been brothers ever since.

How then, did one ask a brother to risk everything on this one, and now perhaps final, venture? Bucky had a family, a father and sister, that he supported. Austria had made good on her promises to them both. Bucky had happily retired from the military with his citizenship and built a respectable life for himself. How could he ask him to betray that now?

“Stevie, you look like hell.”

Once more Steve started in his chair, yanked from his troubled musings, this time by the gruff voice of James Bakhuizen, better known as Bucky to his kin, as the man dropped his coat on the back of the seat opposite Steve and sat down. His face still carried a few days stubble from his travel and he quickly accepted the cup Steve pushed his way with a tired grunt.

Bucky drained the coffee half empty and then, licking the residue off his lip, regarded Steve with a heavy eye, drumming his fingers on the table. A staccato beat. Even now he was making music. Steve kept still as Bucky assessed his form.

“Hello, Buck.” He was unable to keep from smiling at his old friend, no matter the circumstances.

“Stevie.” Bucky greeted again, his tone short. His lips flattened into a line and he took a breath to cool his temper. He'd never been able to stomach Steve being injured. Seemed to take it as a personal insult.

“What the hell did you do to yourself?” He continued softer than before this time in Rromany, the language of their people slipping easier off his tongue than either the German or the Polish they’d learned ever could.

Steve’s heart lurched almost unpleasantly at the sound.

He and his family had spent much of his childhood traveling and he’d picked up parts and pieces of many languages out of sheer necessity, but for every place they’d settled and every jargon they’d picked up, they always had something of their own. Having a language of their own meant that wherever the caravan went they knew who and what they were. And no matter how Steve was teased for his blond hair and his gajo father, he knew he still belonged. He spoke what they spoke and they could never be strangers to each other.

Steve opened his mouth to reply and for the first time in years he couldn't instantly recall the words he wanted. A spike of panic shot through him as the words jumbling in his mind. Had he forgotten the words? Had he truly forgotten how to speak the language of his mother’s people?

It was only a moment of panic because in the next instant Bucky, who had grown impatient, leaned across the table and grasped a hold of Steve's chin flinched. Steve flinched as Bucky’s cold fingers held him in place.

Though it was a purely medical touch, the sudden movement still drew the eyes of several other patrons.

Steve closed his eyes, embarrassment heating his face.

“Buck.” His voice sounded like gravel.

“Zvekan!” Bucky cursed softly, some of the anger slipping from his voice, “let me get a good look at you.” He tilted Steve’s head and inspected the fading work of General Schmidt's men. Steve let him because the bite of Bucky's finger against his chin was as grounding as it had always been.

“Stefen,” Bucky murmured his name just the way he always did, drawing something warm up into Steve's chest where his heart had begun to pound.

Bucky held his face for a moment more, his hand sliding up to touch his check and Steve felt something uncoil in him. To his horror he felt tears begin to sting at his eyes and for a moment all he felt was wild panic as the shame of it began to overwhelm him.

Bucky smacked his cheek and thankfully the urge disappeared and that strange overwhelming hunger for touch he’d felt coiled back up into his chest.

He touched his smarting cheek and frowned across the table at Bucky who sat back and regarded him with a frank expression, like one would when they were assessing a stranger and Steve’s gut twisted. Had Bucky seen? Had he seen what Steve had tried so desperately to contain all these years? Why else would he look at him that way...

They had seen little of each other since the borders had tightened. The ban on jazz and American music had taken a toll on Bucky and his business. The young musician had taken to producing music through the cafes and nightclubs, traveling back and forth between Berlin, Vienna and Budapest. He’d been restricted to Budapest after border crossing had tightened in the last year.

But if Steve were honest, the distance had started before then. Peggy's death had changed Steve… and he knew not for the better. It had been hard on Bucky too, and hard on top of that to try and prop Steve up only to be pushed away at every turn. Steve had insisted on grieving alone and Bucky had left shortly after that for Hungry. He knew logically that Bucky had his family still to support, but somehow he'd not quite comprehended that Bucky would leave and then truly be gone.

He'd seen him every so often since then but it was not the same. Nothing was.

Bucky sighed.

“Well, Virginia's better at powder than I am. Good thing too. They got you good, Stevie.” There was a part of Steve that was glad to hear Bucky speak in his rough German, and another part that ached with loss. He shoved the feeling away because it had no practical purpose. They couldn’t go back and be boys again, even if it were safe to try.

Despite himself he could feel his smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Bucky glared at him, waiting, as Kurt Dobas appeared again and placed a plate of Bucky’s favorite strudel on the table and backed away, before he continued.

“Virginia told me the beating was bad. So whatever it is that you’ve found better be worth the artwork you got for it.” He picked up a strudel and bit into the crust. “ ‘Cuss from where I’m sitting it doesn't look like it was.”

Thankful that Bucky had decided to get straight to the heart of the matter Steve leaned forward, making as if to reach for a strudel, careful to whisper, “I've gotta talk to you.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’m here aint I? Start talking. I'm listening.”

“I mean somewhere else. I need-” Steve grimaced in frustration. He wasn't cut out to be a spy, had never been trained in this sort of warfare. He felt as obvious as an elephant in the parlor. To add to his embarrassment he could feel his cheeks starting to burn, as if he were a child caught in a lie. His gaze drifted to Kurt who had gone back to his position up from but was clearly still watching them.

Bucky snorted suddenly, drawing Steve's attention again.

“Jesus, Stevie you coulda just said.”

Steve's mouth dropped open a little in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“It's about time.” Bucky drawled “Charlotte's only been throwing herself at you for months. Well as much as woman like that ever does. When-”

Steve’s face was on fire and he rushed to interrupt Bucky, grinding out in Romany, “-this is not about the baroness, you idiot!

Bucky laughed a full bodied sound.

“Oh, now the Bayash can speak Romany.”

Steve shook his head, gritting his teeth at the jab, “Listen to me, I've got something important I need to tell you about!” He had to stop himself from barking it like a command.

His eyes darted about the room quickly before he dared to go on. Everyone seemed lost in themselves, paying him no mind but then again they would. Quieter he whispered, “I'm being followed.”

Bucky's fingers stilled on the table top, raised and curled like a finger to a trigger, his face pale.

His lips disappeared again as he contemplated Steve's words. His expression blank.

“Followed? He said carefully. “By who?”

The unspoken word lingered between them.

Steve shook his head, frustration pooling in his gut again.

“Not anyone.. important” Yet. Steve had no doubt the minute they caught wind of Steve's intentions it would quickly be the last thing he did. “Most likely a puppet for Schmidt, hoping to catch me trying to hand it off.”

“So they're following you and now, by proxy, me.” Bucky nodded, far too calm for the news. “Damn it, Steve! Always gotta bite the big dogs.”

The moment was strangely reminiscent of their boyhood, of Bucky squinting down at him after landing his ass in the grass from yet another fight. He’d wipe the sometimes dirt, and sometimes blood, off his face and tell Steve what a fool he was. Always dragging out his name, doing something funny with the ‘f’ until it dragged like a ‘v’. He’d missed it Steve realized.

Steve took a breath and because he was fucking selfish, continued.

“I need help getting it into the right hands. Sam's too easily disposed of. A man followed us to the train and I don't think Sam would have made it to the border if I’d tried to give it to him. They’d kill him no questions asked, no one would notice him disappearing.”

“Steve, if what you’ve got is so damn important did it ever occur to you that the brass isn’t going to wait to see you pass it off to somebody? They’d jump Weiss first chance they got just for the excuse to search his body.”

Steve paled, the thought of Sam hurt, lying somewhere on the ground broken and bruised (maybe dying) because he’d been seen with Steve, because Steve had put him in danger and his gut twisted.

Steve shut his and shuddered, trying to block out the image from his mind.

A year ago, even months ago you needn't have worried about speaking your mind. Now it seemed like everywhere Steve turned there was another vacant spot where a friend had been. Caught supporting the wrong ideas. Arrested for the wrong politics. Knifed in their beds to path the way for Hitlers rise.

God, Sam. What had he done? There had to be someone to reach station, get in contact…

“Stefen!” Bucky’s voice snapped him out of the fog and Steve blinked at him, glancing down and startled to find Bucky’s hand gripping his shoulder. “Breathe, will you? It’s alright. Sam’s fine. You want to know why? ‘Cause you’re fucking paranoid. Some guy staring at you at a station could mean anything.”

Steve tried to take his advice and breathe. His fingers were numb. He glanced down at them, found them white knuckled and fisted against the tablecloth. He slowly unclenched them.

“It’s gotta be me,” he muttered. “People will notice if they get rid of me.”

For a moment Bucky looked as if he might get up and walk out. His face was pale and set in stone.

“You think you have impunity Rogers? You’re a soldier, disposable on the best days and these are not our best days.”

Steve steeled himself taking a breath to gather himself back together.

“If I can get the letter into the right hands it won't come to that.”

“And I suppose you need me to make arrangements for you, then?”

Bucky was still as a stone, that unreadable expression still resting on his face. Steve sucked in a breath, his body tight with tension as their gazes held.

“Do you know what you're asking me to do?” Bucky finally asked.

He did. Of Course Steve did, but there was no one else he could trust.

“Yes”.

Bucky stared him down.

“Do you know what you're asking of yourself, Stefen?”

“I wouldn't ask you if I didn't.”

And then as usual, Bucky struck right for the heart.

“Don't you ever get tired of war, Stevie?”

Tired of war? Life was war, Bucky ought to know that by now. Yes, Steve was tired (so tired he could barely think sometimes) but he was not yet so tired that he could turn his back on life.

Bucky was still speaking.

“There's always gonna be a war. You don't always gotta be in the middle of it.” The coffee sloshed as he picked up the cup to take another sip, droplets over spilling the porcelain rim. “Ever since we were kids” he finished with a slurp and a mutter.

“I’m trying to protect our country,” Steve bit out through his clenched teeth and Bucky sneered into his cup.  
  
“The country’s changed, Steve. They all do. Hell, our home doesn't even exist anymore. Yesterday it was Galicia today it’s Poland, tomorrow it will be fucking Ukraine for all we know. You’ll spend your whole life fighting someone elses war if you aint careful. So busy protecting everybody elses life you never stop to have one of your own.”

“Bucky please,” he implored, searching his friends face for any sign of relent. He didn’t expect Bucky to understand, but he need his support just the same. He couldn’t do this without him.

Wordlessly Bucky swirled the cup and stared at the dregs at the bottom of the cup. When they’d been boys the street women had given them dregs to read, a practice they’d perfected and used to distract themselves from their miserable circumstances over the years. He could see them as they’d been, jostling about in the backs of wagons, predicting the most outrageous futures for each other. They used to predict things like fame, fortune, adventure and six dogs (Steve’s favorite prediction) but for all of that, Steve had never once predicted that he would die of old age. Bucky had, but only once, and that had been in the mountains surrounded by nothing but white and sheets of ice, the both of them so cold they were in danger of their next breath freezing in their lungs.

They'd been given their first cup of tea in months after a particularly harsh patrol that a fourth of them hadn't returned from, and Bucky, arms wrapped around Steve, had predicted that Steve would live to be an old man with seven grandchildren.

The memory, so clear and cold, stole his breath, and Steve blinked away the sting of tears, hot shame welling up within his chest once more.

Bucky sat the cup down with a clipped thunk and met Steve's gaze head on, oblivious to where Steve’s thoughts had gone.

“You aint special Rogers.” Bucky declared softly. “They know for sure what you’re up to and they’ll kill you, sure as rain. We’ve got to do this right. I know someone who might be able to get a letter out unseen but none of this midnight alleyway shit. The trick is to look like you’ve got nothing to hide. We’re going to spend a few weeks together: parties, drinking, celebrating whatever the hell we can come up with. Tons of people in and out, but it’s alright because you’re just living it up before you’re inevitably shipped off to a post in the S.S, right? There can be no room for doubt, you understand? If you give them reason to doubt they’ll destroy you.”

It was a long moment, with Steve’s heart pounding loudly in his ears, before he realized that Bucky was agreeing, and it wasn’t until he asked if it was true that he could bring himself to believe it.

“You'll do it with or without me and someone’s gotta teach you how to be covert.” Bucky answered; frowning down at his cup he muttered, “I think this calls for stronger stuff.”

Steve huffed out a laugh that made his head swim, dizzy with relief, feeling lighter than he had in months. He didn’t have to go this alone. He’d have done it, had been prepared to do it, but having Bucky at his side made even the impossible feel possible.

“Oh, are you our resident spy now?” He choked out, trying and failing to hide the constriction in his throat.

Bucky drained the rest of the coffee and waved Kurt over.

“Nah, it’s just that I've liked many girls but not the same one for very long. Eventually a man's got to learn to blend in or lose his cock. It's great motivation to keep your head down.”

As Kurt approached their table Bucky cheered loudly in German and clapped Steve on the shoulder, turning toward Kurt he boomed, “We're celebrating, Dobas! Bring out the orange cream and liquor.”

The man’s eyes lit up as he looked at Steve with interest. “Ah, what are you celebrating Captain?

“No, no. It's a secret for now, but it's gonna change things for the captain here, I promise you that.” Bucky insisted with a cheeky wink for Dobas.

Stupid bastard, Steve thought fondly, but Bucky’s easy charm seemed to do little too appease Kurt’s curiosity.

“Are you being promoted, Sir? I’ve always said-”

Bucky pushed him away before the man could finish talking.

“I said it was a surprise, Dobas. Jesus, Mary and Joseph you're no better at understanding commands now than when we were soldiers.”

Kurt stiffened, his lips twitching in a snarl. Steve could tell he wanted to say more but a glance around the room at all the faces now turned toward them stilled his tongue. He contented himself with turning back to Bucky, his face stony as he quipped, “And you're just as coarse as you were when we met. So I suppose we are both set in our ways.”

He turned briskly to Steve. “Captain. Anything else?”

“No thank you, Kurt. Forgive James his crass nature. I'd say he was raised in a barn but you know that already.”

Kurt nodded without any real indication he'd heard and bustled stiffly off. Steve tried to suppress a grin.

“Why do you always gotta get under people's skin like that, Buck?”

“Dobas? He's an idiot, Steve. Who else blows a fucking hole in their side and is proud of it?”

Steve could still smell the blood and could still see the open intestine, the way it looked lying in the snow. Grotesquely pretty. He and another soldier had helped hold the ribbons of organs in while a field medic stitched him into one piece for travel.

His throat was tightening again. He cleared it and looked back up at Bucky who was watching him closely.

“Buck, you don’t have to do this if-”

“It always gets me when you do that” Bucky interrupted, dismissing Steve's gratitude with with a wave of his hand as if he were waving away a bad smell.

Steve hesitated, narrowing his eyes.

“Do what, exactly?”

“That,” Bucky gestured vaguely at Steve. “Sound all posh and uppity, with your high class German. It makes me want to shit in your mouth.”

Steve nearly dropped the strudel he'd been idly picking at, shocked at the sudden vulgarity.

“Bucky, we’re in public!” he ground out but Bucky, almost as incorrigible as the child Steve had named after him, continued on louder than before, uncaring of their potential audience.

“I’ve heard worse come out of your mouth. You know I loved Peggy, and god knows she scrubbed you up nice, but you never used to apologize for being born in a barn.”

Bucky finished the last of his strudel, a defiant gleam in his eye and Steve pushed the last uneaten bit of strudel on his own plate toward him. It was a peace offering, one that Bucky accepted with a knowing smirk.

“That’s because I wasn’t.” Steve reminded him with a small smile. “You’re the high class one remember? I was born on the side of the road.”

~*~*~

  
Bucky’s contact was a dutch woman by the name of Janneke Van Dyne. An accomplished singer with a well to do father living in Holland, most of society chose to politely ignore the fact that she was part Siamese for the chance to have the woman lend her beautiful voice to their soirees and gatherings. Which meant she traveled quite a bit and could easily hide something like a letter among her entourage or so Bucky claimed. He wrote to her, asking her to come to Vienna on Steve’s behalf and there was nothing to do in the meanwhile but wait.

They spent the interim ‘recapturing their youth’ as Bucky put it, moving from one coffeehouse to the next, one smoke club to another. Bucky seemed to take it upon himself to introduce Steve to every singer, dancer, and socialite he knew, and Steve was sure he made a complete fool of himself not knowing what to say or where to look when Bucky’s pretty birds were fawning all over him.

For Steve’s part he let it be known where he was staying and when the invitations to dinners and well to do lunches poured in he surprised Charlotte by being the one driving their social calendar for once. He sat through readings and even an opera on the sixth day.

Though he had to put on the front of a man enjoying these last free days before answering his duty he couldn’t hide how massively uncomfortable the whole thing made him. By that point he’d have welcomed Shmidt and his men storming in with guns blazing to arrest him. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like not to be stiff and without a headache.

Actually running into Shmidt put a damper on that feeling however. It had almost felt like a relief the few times he was was called out to attend a rally or a demonstration in the city. While it made him sorely cross to don his new uniform with the bold swastika on the breast, the boots still felt right on his feet and he was still more at home with the men than he felt anywhere else.

It had all been fine until Schmidt had showed up at a rally for Hitler’s Youth, the boys waving him in, a sea of waving flags blaring horns and lifted voices. Steve had tried to stay out of his way at the following dinner but the General had cornered him, curling his long fingers around the barrel of his wine glass as if it were a neck as he inquired after Steve’s boy’s.

Where had the Rogers’ boys been, when the finest youths the Reich had produced were all here? Why weren't they attending the school that would hone them into warriors for the S.S? He’d asked the other other officers in the pavilion what they thought on the matter with a cutting grin and all their eyes had turned to him: curious, disapproving, and too suspicious for Steve’s comfort.

When Steve had repeated the story he and Virginia had come up with, about the children being ill and needing to be taught at home, Schmidt had clucked his tongue in a show of sympathy.

“It’s such terrible thing, not to be in good health. Your children always seem so ill. It’s not very German of them.”

They’d all laughed at that, and though the other men seemed to take it as a good joke at Steve's expense, Steve could feel the ice forming in his gut at what he’d known to be a thinly veiled threat. Schmidt was far from deterred.

Schmidt had held his gaze - the cold glittering expression in them promising that he would pry Steve’s children from his hands one way or another- and smiled, raising his glass in a toast.

“To your health, Captain.”

It was harder after that to keep up the pretense. Steve wanted nothing more than to fly home and see for himself that things were truly well with the children. There was a small terribly cowardly man in him who wanted to go home, pack all their bags and simply slip away into the night, abandoning everything and everyone else to whatever fate would meet them, so long as his children were not harmed.

It was a small part, but it was insistent and it screamed at him the warning that his failure to protect them would be the end of him. Bucky commented on his morose moods and even Charlotte had commented that he had seemed less than enthusiastic about their dinner the following night.

Charlotte Schrader was Peggy’s first cousin, and not the sort of woman any man easily forgot, but he found the blue of her eyes too sharp, the softness of her blond hair promised too much when he stood to lose so much else that was precious too him. He hardly knew what to say in her company, and though she never acted as if she minded his shuttered ways, he’d felt sick and at a loss as he’d left her that night.

He’d gone back to the hotel and when sleep had remained illusive he’d found himself pulling out Stark’s letters again. He remembered getting the first one, thankful to finally be off his feet and away from a crowd. When the desk man had come to deliver the post he’d been eager for news of the children. He’d torn open the envelope and eagerly begun to read, only to be met with pages and pages of the most dull drivel he’d ever been subjected to.

He’d turned the page only to have a detailed diagram slip from between the folds and land on the desk.

He’d picked it up to discover what looked to be rather impressive mathematical equations involving his son and a mouse. He’d caught himself wondering for a brief moment if Stark had made it all up or if he really had measured the number of centimeters on average that Artur preferred to hold the thing from the ground.

He hadn't been sure if he should be horrified or impressed. The two emotions had warred for dominance within him as Bucky had leaned over his shoulder to get a look at what had him so engrossed.

“What the hell?” He’d snatched one of the papers before Steve could stop him, and had sworn loudly when he’d turned the page over to reveal writing on both sides.

“Steve, what is this?” he’d demanded, and something about his gobsmacked expression had pushed Steve over the line of horrified at Stark’s childishness to down right amused.

He’d asked for every detail of his children's movements and he’d gotten it, down to an equation summarizing the amount of hair Natacha had pulled out while brushing her hair that morning.

Steve read the letter again, chuckling quietly as he reached the part where Stark allowed that it couldn’t be an hundred percent accurate equation as he would have had to get much closer to her for better data, and with the amount of hostility she was exhibiting he'd deemed it unsafe.  
  
He was clever, Steve would give him that. He’d not expected the man the Abbott sent him to be so smart. Even for a Stark the man's mind was truly something extraordinary, flinging equations and algorithms about like an artist slung paint, easy as his next breath. And as more letters had come Steve could not deny that the man was insightful and did well with the children.

As agitating as Stark’s coded jibes could be Steve was hungry to hear about them, and he could not deny that he looked forward to the post as the brightest spot in his weary day.

At night with the sounds of the city at his back he would go over the letters, imagining Stark and the children as he’d described them, and for the first time in years he wished he’d had a sketch book.That night like many others he fell asleep to the sound of Stark’s voice in his head, describing his attempt to teach Sara her letters and declaring the child stubborn in the way of all Rogers.

 

~*~*~

  
  
Steve woke with a start his mind instantly awake and panicking. Pale violet light lite swept across the room. Over on the sofa Bucky shifted in his sleep and slowly Steve began to relax.

He’d fallen asleep to one of Stark’s letters. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night with a start, much like now, and for a horrible moment the sounds of Vienna drifting in from the window had mixed with blasts of bombs and his ears had been full with the sound of screaming.

It had taken him a moment to realize he had gotten out of bed and was standing in the middle of his room, half naked and trembling, another moment still to realize that the sound he’d heard wasn’t the screaming of wounded men but the plaintive cries of Bucky’s violin.

Bucky had been perched by his window sill, his violin cocked at his throat as he played a familiar tune. A folk song, not unlike the sort the Uncles used to play. This one was about a tiny flower. They grew everywhere, and in the alps they grew so numerous they covered the hills like snow. They’d seen such sights during the war. Even amidst all that blood and death they’d been soft lovely little things…

Steve had stared at him, dazed, until Bucky had lowered the instrument and sighed. Steve didn’t remember much after that. Bucky must have put him back to bed.

Circumstance hadn't called for the two of them to sleep in the same bed in more than a decade but as Steve laid back down and shivered at the coolness of his sheets he found himself aching for another body.

Not necessarily Bucky’s, though he couldn't imagine another person he’d feel safe enough to fall asleep next to, just... someone. Another body beside him solid and warm and reminding him that he was still alive.

He’d survived. All was well. He hadn’t frozen in those mountains.

Over on the sofa Bucky twitched, a violent motion that contrasted with the peaceful expression on his face, as if he could sense Steve worrying. Steve didn’t doubt he had a radar for that sort of thing. The blanket he’d tossed over himself slipped further off his chest and his body shivered.

Steve sighed and let his body settle back into the mattress. Bucky always bundled himself up before sleep. He was too used to freezing at night not to, but his body ran hot and he always lost the sheets by the end of the night.

Steve never did. He hated the cold but it never seemed to leave him either.

He exhaled, wincing as his ribs throbbed and he gingerly rolled till he was sitting up, rubbing his face with one hand.

“Go back to sleep. It's gods piss in the morning.” Bucky mumbled from underneath his arm and Steve snorted into his hands. Bucky had never been a morning person, especially when he’d had something to drink the night before.

“We've got work to do.”

Bucky frowned and opened one accusing eye.

“You barely slept Rogers, go back to sleep.”

He must have dozed because Bucky's shadow interrupted falling over him jolted him awake once more and when he blinked up at him Bucky was standing over him, a towel slung over one shoulder and his straight blade in one hand.

“Steve!” he called his name like someone who’d been calling it for awhile.

“What?” Steve rasped through a sleep roughened throat.

“I asked if you wanted to order breakfast. Are you alright?”

Steve shook himself and stood, stumbling toward the wardrobe. “I'm fine” he insisted.

Bucky shaved as Steve washed, dressed and comprised a telegram for Charlotte asking about a late dinner. He owed her a nice evening after last nights disaster. Stark was still waiting on a reply to his last couple of letters no doubt, so Steve began to put one together. Bucky was pulling on his undershirt when a young maid knocked on the door. She peered inside, the tray of coffee and breakfast food wobbling dangerously as she openly stared at Steve.

Bucky, still in his undershirt, swept the tray out of her hands, grinning at her lazily. He'd always enjoyed Steve's celebrity, got a kick out of it in a way Steve never could, but this morning he seemed less inclined to play the monkey.

“Danke, Frauline.” He closed the door pointedly in the young woman’s face and then frowned down at the tray in his hands.

“Is this it?”

Steve glanced up from his desk, his hand stilled in mid sentence over his letter.

“Hm, I'm not hungry.”

Bucky sat the tray down over Steve's papers and glared at him.

“Bullshit. Stevie I know eats like a horse and grows like one too.”

Steve pushed the tray away, his stomach already twisting at the thought of consuming more than he already had. He'd eaten...well alright, yesterday, yesterday morning to be exact and a few bites at dinner with Charlotte, but looking at the food on the tray he couldn't bring himself to muster the will.

“Right, well as you said. Things change.”

When Bucky made no indication he was going to move it Steve pushed the tray further still. It was then that he noticed there were three envelopes tucked neatly together against the coffee pot, narrowly missing falling into the food.

One of them, penned with a short but delicate feminine script (clearly intended for Bucky) and the other one bore military insignia and the last one...

Something bright opened in his chest and he snatched the letter up eagerly.

“I'm only saying,” Bucky droned on in the background. “If you were going to order for just me, I drink espresso now.

“Since when do you drink espresso?” Steve murmured, only half listening.

“It’s all the rage in Budapest. Is that from the children?”

Steve glanced at him, his brow furrowed in confusion, his mind still stuck on Stark’s words (hearing Stark’s voice the way he imagined he would have said them) and Bucky gestured at the letter impatiently. Steve glanced down at it in shock like he’d not realized he even had a letter in his hand to begin with.

“Oh, no! I mean yes… It’s Stark, writing about the children.”

Bucky watched, his gaze revealing nothing as his eyes traveled over him. After a moment he plucked the letter addressed for him with a derisive snort and wandered into the bathroom with his letter tucked under his arm.

“Let me know if he says anything about Ginger!” he called over his shoulder and without looking up Steve called back, “She hates when you call her that. And you shouldn’t encourage her. Dancing isn’t a proper profession.”

Bucky banged something loudly in the bathroom and Steve grinned as his friend’s voice floated through the thin walls.

“All the more reason we should all be dancers!”

Steve was gearing up to remind him why it mattered to him that his children had the opportunities they’d never had growing up when Bucky reappeared holding his letter in front of him with such a subdued expression that the thought fled Steve’s mind.

“Buck?”

“It’s from Jan,” Bucky announced tearing up the letter as he spoke. Steve watched him, heart fluttering anxiously in his chest. “She’s here, in Vienna.”

“Well?” Steve prompted impatiently. “What did she say about-”

“Jesus Stevie, you think I’d put something like that in a letter? Covert remember. Covert.”

Steve huffed, clenching his fists.

“Well when can we see her?”

“Tonight,” Bucky answered throwing the shredded pieces of the letter into the waste bin. “Where else but the ball?”

“A ball?” Steve sputtered. He vaguely remembered receiving an invitation to such an event, but he’d thrown it away as the expense had been ridiculous and he’d do a lot for this charade but he drew the line at balls. Bucky hummed in affirmation and Steve stared at him aghast.

“We can’t go to a ball.”

“Why the hell not?”  
  
“Charlotte and I… It wouldn’t be-”

“If you say proper Stefen I’ll hit you. Don’t test me.”

“-it wouldn’t be at all the done thing,” Steve finished with a pointed glare and Bucky laughed.

“So bring Charlotte” he allowed, reaching out to mess up Steve’s hair. “God knows you owe the poor woman. You’re a miserable date.”

 

~*~*~

 

“I’m having a hard time deciding...” Steve glanced down to find Janneke Van Dyne’s brown eyes glinting up at him with unhidden mirth and his back went possibly even stiffer than it had already been. He supposed some men would be happy to find themselves in the arms of a beautiful flower like Jan, but Steve was too aware of the heat of her body pressed close to his as they stumbled through the waltz and the sticky sweet smell of her perfume in his nose made his stomach churn.

He wanted done with this farce, and to speak urgently about the letter. But they’d had not a single moment alone all evening in which he could safely bring it up, so when she’d asked him to dance he’d agreed before he could really think about what that entailed. He hadn’t danced with a woman since Peggy. Hadn’t wanted to and still didn’t.

“What?” he groused through tight lips as they moved to the steps, Jan’s skirts swirling about his legs as she turned.

“Which of you looks more miserable. You or the baroness.”

Steve’s gaze flew back to their table only to find Charlotte sitting with a table full of young admirers, including Bucky, laughing gaily at some joke that he was making.

“Charlotte? She isn’t bothered.”

Miss Van Dyne arched one slender brow and tutted.

“Whatever you say Captain, but no woman likes to see her fish caught on somebody esles hook.”

“We are not dancing for pleasure,” Steve reminded her, hand’s tightening in warning as he glared down at her.

“Who could tell, with how besottedly you gaze at me,” Jan quipped with a roll of almond shaped eyes. “You should smile Captain, or people might wonder why you bothered to dance with me at all.”

Steve understood the subtle warning and swallowed down his ire, attempting to look more like he was enjoying himself.

“Do you truly hate dancing so much? James is a wonderful dancer.”

“I know. He taught me when we were boys” Steve admitted, the fondness over the memory warming him to the conversation despite himself.

“Have you not danced with many women?” Jan asked, something knowing in her tone that set Steve on edge and he tensed once more.

“My wife,” he answered gruffly and Jan nodded sagely, as if she’d guessed as much.

“Not your baroness?”

“There hasn’t been an occasion,” Steve bit out, a tad too sharply, and instantly he felt shame because he knew that wasn’t entirely true. Jan’s arch brow called him a liar and seemed to wordlessly point out the truth of their surroundings. This was an occasion and he’d not even thought to ask Charlotte for a waltz.

“Charlotte and I are getting to know each other,” he tried to explain, to himself as much as Jan. “There’s a lot for both of us to consider. I have children, and if I’m to bring someone into their lives, well it’s important to me that I find the right partner.”

“Ah,” Jan nodded again with a soft sigh. “I’d like to see it.”

“See what?”

“How you dance with the right partner.”

Steve stared at her, mouth tightening grimly but said nothing. What was there to say to something like that? Women could be strange creatures at the best of times, and this one struck him as stranger than most; but Bucky thought she could be trusted and Steve trusted Bucky.

He pulled her tighter to him, forcing himself to take a slow breath and not to come off threatening. It was no small thing what he was asking her to do. A monumental amount of risk. There would be no one to save her if she were caught.

“Bucky tells me you’re touring,” he murmured as they moved and Jan simply nodded, closing her eyes as if lost to the music.

“Yes France, then a few days in London.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not as exciting as one might think. Sometimes you need a place to land.”

“I have friends in London. That is, if you find yourself in need of a friendly face...” Steve hedged, no good at holding coded conversations and wishing he could simply tug Janneke out of the dance hall and have out with it. “You might look them up. I’m sure they’d be happy to show you around.”

“I don’t know Captain…” Jan murmured softly on her next turn. When she faced him again her eyes were soft, but there was something incredibly tired in them. “There’s a lot of danger out there in the world for a woman alone. People like to take advantage. A woman in my position especially… well she has to walk carefully.”

Steve wanted to promise her that nothing bad would befall her but he could not bring himself to utter such empty promises, not in the face of her own frankness. As he searched for the words to convince, the right thing to convey, he could think only of the unapologeticly beautiful, and yet foreign, construction of her face in this sea of pale faces. A sea growing ever more turbulent as the Reich howled for racial purity. She could not hide the way others did (the way he did) and he found something incredibly brave about her presence there. She had stood among them, gowned like a queen and glittering from head to toe as her voice soared above them, forced them to feel the things she wanted them to feel, left them stinging and raw.

“We deserve a better world,” he rasped through the tightness in his throat, and she paused taking him in in silence. He swallowed thickly, too aware of her eyes on him as he burned with the conflicting need to hide his face in shame and to hold her tight and make her _see_. “We all deserve a better world. But it doesn’t happen unless we make it happen. We need to trust on another, to help one another.”

Help _me_ he pleaded silently, and Steve could see in her eyes that the message did not go unheard.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nowy Sacs is a city in what is today Poland and in Steve's boyhood would have been Galicia, which was a province of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Steve is what we would understand as a Gypsy, or Bayash as they would call themselves. The decision to make him and Bucky ethnically Roma started with our desire to make Bucky Romanian in a nod to Sebastian Stan, and somehow snowballed in what we believe is a wonderful way. Our desire is to emphasize how prevalent racial mixing actually is in the world despite the history that we write otherwise and really get to the heart of the horrors of this period of history. Steve's mother despite her fair features is full Roma but she married a gajo (someone non-Roma) which has put him on the outskirts of both societies. When Bucky calls Steve Prala he is calling him 'brother'. 
> 
> Also fun fact about Leopoldstadt, the district that he and Bucky lived in as young men is a sister city of Brooklyn. It officially gained “twin-city” status with Brooklyn in 2007 due to its high percentage of Jewish inhabitants before the war and similar social and cultural development. :) we did that on purpose (obviously) because we wanted to maintain some of their MCU "Brooklyn boy" aesthetic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip into town offers Tony the opportunity to finally bring the Rogers children out of seclusion (never mind their father's rules) but an incident in town might just be the very reason Captain Rogers would prefer to keep his children at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 4th of July, fellow Americans, and for everybody else well I hope you had a fantastic evening just the same. All our love! In honor of the birth of our fine (hot mess) of a country we bring you this update. 
> 
> Warnings: violence against the elderly is in this chapter as well as some pretty heavy antisemitic language.

_Herr Stark,_

_I write to inform you that shortly you will be visited by a Fraulein Dörthe Werner. She is an esteemed member of our local chapter of BDM. They are eager to meet Natacha now that the summer fever has passed and are willing to make concession for her frail constitution and adhere to the strict routine advised by doctor Erskine. We can only be thrilled at this development. Stark, it is important that she be prepared for this visit and that Natacha comport herself with the grace and deportment of a female of her station. Werner is a particularly harsh critic whom, I feel I must disclose, had something of a rivalry with Natacha’s mother Margrit. I fear this may affect her report of Natacha and jeopardize the girl’s future. Frau Hogan will make sure that she is prepared, but Werner will likely wish to question the children’s tutor. I hope to be home before her arrival but in the event that I cannot be I must impress upon you again the importance of this meeting. Keep the boys out of sight. They have a tendency to be rowdy._

_-Stefen_

 

Tony stared at the captain’s last letter as if the hundredth read would move the ink and rearrange the words into something less damning. But they stayed they same, their meaning unmistakble and their implications making a mockery of Tony as he wrestled with a feeling inexplicably close to betrayal, a feeling as damning as it was ludicrous, given whose house he was living in. Rogers was an officer of the Reich and he had not forgotten that.

And so it seemed that despite everything, the vaunted Captain Rogers invited the Hitler Youth into his home, as eager to indoctrinate his children into the German war machine as any other loyal fascist.  It made Tony sick to think about, which even he could admit was ironic given his first impressions of the children when he’d met them. They’d marched like mini gestapo he recalled again with a wince, but that had been uncharitable. They were only children: bright ones at that, with good hearts despite growing up in a world that was telling them that cruelty was their right.

Damn it all but Rogers was confusing. Tony had gotten the impression that Stefen cared little for the Nazis and their politics, which had only been enforced in Tony’s mind a dozen little ways over the weeks: his changes to the children’s curriculum, the lack of Nazi propaganda in the home, the seclusion of the household, his unapologetic friendship with a black gardener, the things he let slip in his letters about his childhood and his fears for the future.

If Tony were honest, he’d come to really enjoy receiving Stefen’s letters, to seeing the captain’s full name spelled out in sprawling letters at the bottom of the page: Stefen Gavril Rogers, like a flag stuck into soil. As if Stefen felt the need to claim everything contained within the letter as his own and close to his heart. It had become increasingly clear to Tony that despite the increasing length of his stay in Vienna that Stefen truly hungered after word of the children, to feel close to them and know that they were well. It was frustrating to say the least because the children were equally hungry to be close to their father and to Tony’s observation Stefen was the only one standing in his own way.

Perhaps to be encouraging Tony had asked the children to each write a letter to their father detailing their day when he’d sent his last correspondence, hoping it would prevail upon Stefen if not to come home where he was sorely missed, then to at least open the lines of communication between him and the children.

He’d not hoped for too much, but he’d never expected this short dismissive little letter begging him to play nice with Nazis. It felt like a blow, though he felt silly for even acknowledging the strange feeling of disappointment in his chest.

Crumpling the letter with a frustrated grunt Tony turned back to the task of finishing his report to Farkas. Today was the day Farkas had promised to send someone to pick up his report, though Tony had no idea how Farkas was going to manage that without arousing suspicion from the household.

There was little to report any how, except the niggling contradictions the Captain presented and not just him. Frau Hogan knew more than she was sharing, and then there were the children’s ‘frail constitutions’. Tony snorted. He’d never seen a healthier lot and yet every time he broached the subject of getting the children out of the house and out into the world he was met with a list of their ailments and the strict routines they must follow to remain healthy. Péter had the worst of it if the family doctor was to believed. Tony didn’t know much about heart conditions but given how Péter slunk about climbing in and out of windows to see that friend of his looking the picture of health while he was at it, Tony saw no reason the boy’s heart should burst over a trip to public school.

Either Dr. Erskine was a complete quack or Rogers did not want his children leaving home and was willing to diagnose them with every feasible ailment possible in order to achieve that purpose.

Natacha, frail? It was a laughable thought.

But it left the question of why, and yesterday Tony might even have dared to say it was to keep them out of the Reich’s hands but today… well he’d invited them to tea, so what the hell did Tony know.

He sighed, gripping the pen tighter between his fingers and leaning closer to the parchment as he prepared to detail his suspicions to Farkas, only he found himself hesitating.

The truth was, though he’d known the man something like twenty years now, the abbot remained a mystery to him. He always had his own agenda and was always sure to never reveal more than a few cards in his hand at one time. While Tony knew him to be loyal to the now obsolete Hapsburgs, he didn’t know why Farkas had an interest in Stefen and his activities, or what he’d do with the information that Tony suspected the children’s illnesses might be exaggerated. 

He owed Stefen no loyalty he reasoned. Rogers (he must stop thinking of him so familiarly) was a Nazi who invited other Nazis over for tea in the hope of polishing his children up into mini-Nazis. So what was it to Tony if he told tales on him? Why should he feel like he was betraying the man when he would do so much worse to Tony if he knew the truth?

Tony dropped the ink pen with a shudder and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling suddenly very small and very alone. He thought about the children-pictured each of their faces bent in concentration over their letters to their father- and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly.

He’d wait, he decided, and watch a little more. Grabbing the pen and paper again he scribbled a note for Bruce asking for advice on heart ailments.

It was at that moment that he heard the sound of an indignant squawk, an aborted yelp and a painful sounding thud and his eyes flew to the window which remained open to let in the early afternoon breeze.  There was some commotion outside, and fearing that Péter had been hurt by once again climbing up the side of the house Tony rushed to the window. The sight that met him was so far from what he expected that he could only stare incredulously as Clinton rubbed his skull and glared balefully up at Natacha whose feet he was inelegantly sprawled at.

“What the devil is going on?” Tony sputtered, caught between how suddenly glad he felt to see Barton and his shock at seeing him there.

“ _Cette fille la stupide!”_ Clinton cursed in French, and Tony winced because Natacha was past her pronouns and had done very well with her adjectives. Oblivious to the girls murderous gaze Clinton went on in his thickly accented German, “She threw a rock at my skull, that’s what’s going on!”

“He was breaking into the house Herr Stark!” Natacha informed him, not taking her eyes off the other child as he righted himself and got gingerly to his feet, one hand pressed to the side of his head.

“I was not!” he insisted. “I was coming to visit Brother Stark. Is that a crime _little girl_?”

“It is when you climb over the gate and try to sneak in through the window,” Natacha returned hotly, ignoring Clinton’s muttered grumbling as she turned to pin her glare on Tony and demand, “who is he?”

“He’s a friend. A friend from the abbey.” Tony, realizing shamefully late for a genius what Clinton was likely doing there, scrambled to think of what to tell Natacha, who had her hands fisted on her hips in a distressingly Pepper-like way that did not bode well for keeping Pepper uninvolved.

“Clinton. Clinton Francis Barton,” Clinton extended one dirtied palm which Natacha stared coolly at while the boy prattled on. “You must have eyes on the back of your head. I waited till you’d passed me ta hop the fence. You’ve got killer aim too. Be more impressed when my skull aint splitting though.”

Natacha stared at him a beat longer, taking in his threadbare trousers and tousled hair with the intent of a spider watching flies buzz around its web.

“We have a front door. Why sneak in at all?” She asked slowly, and far too suspiciously for Tony’s liking. Clinton flashed a crooked grin and shrugged.

“More fun that way. ‘Sides. I used to sneak into Tony’s workshop all the time. He’d hardly know it was me if I came through the front door.”

He winked cheekily in Tony’s direction and Tony found himself laughing, relieved that for the moment Natacha seemed to accept this answer as part of Clinton’s overall strangeness. He’d never been happier that Clinton was such a queer little imp. Given that Natacha had discovered them and seemed content to watch their every move the boy was invited inside and forced to play out the charade of paying Tony a visit, right on time for afternoon coffee.

Hammer looked as if he would combust at the sight of the grubby boy plopping himself into one of the houses plush chair, and greedily grabbing at the cakes Pepper brought for them. She seemed amused by it, bless her, but Tony still had to scold the boy to eat slowly. The last thing they needed was for him to choke.

“Herr Stark, I really must protest this. The captain-” Hammer tried to halt the proceedings once more as Tony and his guest got settled. Meeting Clinton’s eye and battling a grin Tony cut the butler off.

“- surely did not intend for me to spend the rest of my days here without a chance to visit with friends. Sounds barbaric. What would my dear friends at the abbey think?”

“Theys treating you right, ain they Tony?” Clint barked through a mouthful of cake, casting Hammer with a downright menacing glare. The butler actually paled, mouth opening in a silent o’ of apprehension and Tony hid a snicker in his cake. The Brothers had sure tried to polish the boy up and make something civilized out of him, but they’d not done any better at it with Clint than they had Tony.

“Of course!” Hammer insisted with a snap. “But the captain would be unhappy with him receiving vagrants in his home!”

“He’s not a vagrant.” Natasha interjected quietly, sounding droll as ever. Tony was surprised to hear her speak up at all. Tossing one long red braid over her shoulder, she reached for one of the cakes and finished with a dainty little shrug that had Tony gawping both at the daintiness and the words themselves, “He’s a monk.”

Tony was suddenly struck by the notion that Natacha was at the age where little girls began to think like young women, and now that it was certain Clint was not some thief attempting to rob them in broad daylight, he must appear to her a curious new entity (around her own age) and possibly not bad looking. Tony wouldn’t know. He wasn’t a twelve-year-old girl but he thought that maybe Clinton had a certain roguish appeal to him. It was a wholly discomforting realization, because much as he enjoyed Clinton he was a scamp and Tony wouldn’t trust him to look after a paper bag let alone a young lady.

“Novice actually,” Clinton mumbled, shoving more cake in his mouth but Natacha was looking down, quite focused on pouring coffee for everyone. Tony narrowed his eyes at Clinton in warning.

The boy mouthed something suspiciously like ‘what’ as in the background Hammer hummed like a kettle about to shriek.

Somehow Tony doubted Natacha developing a rapport with a circus boy turned monk (who also moonlit as a spy) was what Stefen had had in mind when he’d pleaded with Tony to make sure Natcaha presented herself with the dignity of a proper German girl, poised to join the ranks of the Reich’s ‘League _o_ f German Girls’.

Well, Tony thought with a slight smirk as he sipped his coffee. Life was full of surprises.

 

~*~*~

 

“Alright, bambinos!” Tony clapped his hands together to grab the children's attention. It mostly worked, nearly all of them quieting their chatter to look his way. James was the exception, continuing to try and bat away Ian who had the misfortune of standing his bicycle too close to him.

“James!” Tony barked. The boy turned a sour look towards him but thankfully quieted so that Tony could begin giving his instructions.

If Tony had stopped over the last few days to consider what he was undertaking cycling into town with seven children he might have reconsidered, but hindsight was twenty twenty. The children were lined in a row, the bicycles that Tony had fixed up for them gleaming in the sunlight with new life. By some miracle he’d managed to get each of them into the play clothes he’d painstakingly stitched for them, though Natacha had been anything but happy about it. After all it wasn’t the smart blue skirt and crisp white blouse he’d caught Pepper helping size that morning.

When asked to dress for their outing she’d primly informed him that curtains were beneath a proper young woman, especially a future leader in the League of German Girls and Tony had been forced to inform her in reply that she hadn’t been accepted into the BDM yet, and he frankly he wouldn’t give a damn if she were. She could either wear them with grace or stay behind.

Tony didn’t know what it was but it always seemed to be one step forward and two steps back with these children. Though he truthfully didn’t know what he’d expected. Could he really be angry with the daughter of a Nazi officer for wanting to behave like a Nazi?

Maybe he was the fool, trying to squeeze blood from stones.

She’d relented in the end when the little girls had begged her not to stay behind, but she was refusing to so much as look at him now. Tony could admit he was just fine with that. He’d take James pestering his brother mercilessly over Natcaha’s indignant fury any day. He watched as James, tempted by Ian's focus on Tony, shoved an elbow into his brother’s side just for the sake of it.

“No more of that!” Tony snapped in warning. “If you lot can’t behave yourselves we won't be doing this again. I have many other things I could be doing with my time.”

Ian stopped glaring at his little brother long enough to send Tony a curious look.

“Like what? Aren't you meant to look after us?”

Of all the Rogers children Ian was the one least versed in sass. He seemed genuinely curious. 

 

Tony turned and situated Sara in her basket, tucking the braid Pepper had done up that morning back into her head scarf.

“I’m paid to teach you. The captain said nothing about playing matador to your little squabbles. 

“Are we leaving?” Artur poked his head out from where he was seated behind James, squeezing his brother’s waist impatiently.

Despite himself, Tony felt a smile tug his lips. Thank god for Artur. He and Sara were the only ones who embraced Tony's rebellious nature with cheer, brimming with such innocently youthful enthusiasm.

Even now Natacha's face was pinched as she pulled Maria onto the back of her bicycle, the little girl clutching at Natacha’s sides anxiously, not at all sure about this cycling business.

When she’d gotten her little sister firmly situated Natacha mounted the bike herself and turned in Tony’s direction, looking somewhere just past him, and murmured that they were ready. Despite her perfect posture she looked uncomfortable standing there in her blue and white pinafore. Now that Tony was looking at them all in a row it could be said that, yes alright, the pattern of their attire put one in mind distinctly of drapery.   

Even Péter, who at first had been excited at the prospect of cycling to town, had dug his heels in when he realized he might be seen by his friends. Well they were just going to have to find some way to live with being less than model citizens under Tony’s tutelage now weren’t they. 

Tony mounted his bicycle and adjusted himself to Sara's weight as they set off. 

“Why do I have to carry Artur? Why can't I help carry the supplies with Ian and Péter? I'm old enough.” James whined from behind them, not yet tired of the argument they had started a half hour ago. “I'm just as big as Ian!” he added, hobbling to gain enough speed to pull himself and Artur. His younger brother bobbed back and forth from their unsteady gait. Tony winced, seeing them spread eagle on the road in his mind's eye.

“It's boring when you complain James.” Péter called back over his shoulder with a roll of his eyes. “You're too little. You can't carry Artur, the supplies, and keep up.” 

If looks could kill Tony would be saying the Lord's Prayer for Péter.

James struggled forward and his voice, to Tony's surprise, wavered with frustrated tears.

“And you can?! You shouldn't even be on a bicycle!”

Péter all but caused a collision stopping in the middle of the drive to snarl at his brother in reply. “Shut your mouth, James-”

“I'm leaving!” Tony interrupted what was shaping up to be yet another spat between James and his older brothers, swiveling his bicycle around, countering his weight so Sara wouldn't end up face first in the dirt. If Tony had to pick one and call them poorly behaved it was definitely James. He was moody, confrontational and stubborn as a goat with none of the control that his brothers seemed to have.

In a strange way, Tony almost liked him better for it. He’d never been any good at keeping his own impulses or his emotions in check either and envied others their ability to remain aloof when he constantly felt like things were slipping out of his control.

James had become increasingly emotional as the weeks went on with no sign of the captain returning, and it hadn’t escaped Tony’s notice that with their personal letters to their father gone unanswered the boy had started melting down into a tantrum at least once a day. Tony felt for him (he could curse Rogers, and himself for ever thinking to have the children write to him in the first place) but his nerves were worn thin.

“Since you seem too hung up on picking fights, Sara and I can take care of the supplies. In fact she can build the damn puppets herself!”

At the sound of the curse Maria gasped in shock behind Natacha, leaning around her sister to stare at Tony with wide eyes.

Tony winced, but what was done was done and really who could blame him for his temper fraying. Weeks of this. Weeks.

James stared at him for half a second, shocked into silence right along with Maria, and then his face clouded in a familiar storm of temper and he opened his mouth- no doubt to shriek and carry on- but Tony cut him off before the tantrum could even get started.

“You want to be able to help James, then show me you can!” He barked. “Show me you can behave and keep up with your brothers and then we’ll revisit this conversation.”

Without waiting for a reply he peddled off again.

For a time, he simply focused on pushing them forward as if he could peddle away from the stress of the last few weeks as easily as he could the villa, leaving it all far behind him. Sara at least seemed to be enjoying the speed. It only took a few minutes before she was giggling in his face, her blue eyes sparkling up at him. He turned a fast corner and she shrieked with glee.

Pepper probably would have had a heart attack at his recklessness when he was carrying such a precious load, but it was such a refreshing change from moodiness and grim stoic faces to see Sara so delighted. She was laughing so uproariously he wasn't sure if he should be concerned for her health or laugh along with her.

Behind him Artur was shrieking for James to go faster and just like that it was a race with Péter rushing out in front of them followed closely by Ian and Natacha. James followed red faced but determined.

The fun of it helped clear away some of the cobwebs in Tony’s head, the frustrated exhaustion that had begun to cloud his mind. Eventually however they were forced to slow, the children not used to such exertion. He felt a stab of regret watching James struggling in the back. He was only eight, his legs considerably shorter than Péter's. Even with Péter's questionably weak heart, James still had to carry thirteen or so kilos of excitable little boy behind him.

He suddenly felt like a heel, being so short with him. Was he being cruel? Or was he simply following his own father’s example expecting far too much from the young when he should know better? It bothered him to realize that he didn’t know when the distinction between the two had begun to blur.

At a much more relaxed pace Tony and the children biked along the country roads, their spirits lifted and for a time Tony thought that they were over the worst of it and had neatly avoided calamity.

He should have known better. The children had begun a game of zigging (or at least trying to) around Tony, enjoying the speed of their bikes and the freedom of being out and about. They so rarely got to be uninhibited this way so he let them, largely amused by their showboating. The maneuver was harder for Natacha and James, both carrying small children on their backs, though it didn’t stop them from trying.

Tony had to call a stop to it when Natacha (ever competitive) slid off her bicycle onto the road. Tony’s heart nearly leapt into his throat as Maria went tumbling into the grass, the bicycle barely missing her by inches. Natacha was up and across the ground before Tony had even managed to slide to a stop. By the time he’d hoisted Sara out of the basket Natacha had already scooped Maria off the ground and was petting her hair and cooing at her as the tiny girl wailed in distress.

Ian rushed past Tony like a bullet to get to his sister, Péter not far behind, both boys kneeling down and brushing off her the smear of mud running up her pinafore. Artur watched fearfully from where he sat behind James, his fingers crammed in his mouth.

When Ian asked her if she was hurt anywhere Maria mumbled something intelligible through tears that had them all looking wildly between each other in alarm before Artur helpfully chimed in that she’d said she was fine but was very put out about the state of her new clothes. Tony blinked and caught Natacha’s eye and of all things to happen, they both started to chuckle.

They were both relieved, both just happy that neither of them had been hurt and happy for the moment to laugh at the silliness of the situation. And Tony hoped that after that they would be able to put the tension behind them… but it seemed not to be.

The girl’s fall seemed to have shaken something loose in James. Rather than take heed to their warnings to slow down he used the rest of the time to cycle in loops around them like a mad thing, weaving in and out of their line like a drunk and challenging Péter and Ian at every turn now that they refused to race. Tony could see Péter losing patience very quickly and he wasn’t the only one. Tony was more than a little grateful when the edges of town came into sight.

Entering Salzburg proper what energy the children had exhausted on the long trip was amplified and returned to them with gusto by the sight of the bustling crowds and white cream buildings (even Natacha was practically humming with excitement).

Artur was beside himself chasing pigeons and then a stray cat napping on a step. Sara gasped and shrieked when the water fountain in the town square shot water straight into the air and droplets sprinkled their faces. The amount of times one of the bicycles Tony had repaired went crashing to the ground as its owner scuttled off to point out some benign object or wondrous new sight, had Tony in a constant state of cringing.

But when he wasn’t wincing at the beating the bikes were getting Tony’s smile was beaming. This was far more like it. This was how children should be: messy and excited (innocent) and not somber eyed and buttoned up in uniforms for causes they had no hope of truly comprehending.

When Ian cycled back to them asking loudly about all the different shops and Tony realized that a month ago he would have been blessed to hear a full paragraph from the child, he had the thought that however it had begun, and however the trip ended, he would count it as a success.       

Eventually Natacha took charge of Maria and Artur’s hands in an attempt to keep the group moving forward while Ian tried in vain to keep a rein on James, who was refusing on principle to be within ten feet of his brother. They made quite a scene with Ian scooting past people, apologizing as he chased his brother who had no such misgivings about knocking into passerby rushing from one window to the next.

“That’s an exercise in futility if I’ve ever seen one.” Tony remarked to Sara who trotted along beside him swinging their joined hands.

“Yes!” she chirped, basking in Tony’s attention and he felt another smile split his face.

Péter, who was a little bit ahead of them, turned to look over his shoulder with a droll expression and say, “Ian doesn’t give up easily.”

Didn’t they all know it.

After a few minutes more of chase Ian appeared on Tony’s other side, out of breath and dragging his bicycle dejectedly. He didn’t say a word as he plodded alongside them dragging his feet and stealing puppy dog glances at Tony, but Tony knew what he wanted.

Tony sighed, half tempted to wait it out and force Ian to use his words. When he glanced down once more and was met with round pleading brown eyes that would have put an entire crate of puppies to shame he relented.

“James!” He called out to the boy’s back. “I said keep up with your brothers. They’re back here.”

James, who had sprinted up ahead to peer into the window of a toy shop trotted back agreeably enough (Tony could only thank their lucky stars) and seemed happy to walk next to Natacha, his eyes sparkling as she pointed at a display of sweet breads in the window of a small café house.

Beside him Ian’s shoulders relaxed and he glanced up at Tony through blond bangs with a shy half smile. He opened his mouth, presumably to thank him (Ian was the politest after all) when his gaze caught on something, his mouth closing slowly as his brow furrowed. Tony followed his eyes to find that it was Péter who had caught Ian’s attention. The older boy had stopped to catch his breath in the middle of the walk, his gaze stuck on a group of boys sat by a market stand smoking and chatting with one another.

Ian’s gaze went from confused to worried as Péter made no further attempts to keep moving.

“Péter? Do you need us to stop, Péter? We can stop.”

When Péter didn’t immediately answer Ian quickened his step to reach the older boy. “Tacha, we’re calling a halt.” he said in a surprisingly authoritative voice.” Péter needs us to stop!”

Péter jerked out of whatever daze had gripped him, his head whipping around to look at them, cheeks fire engine red.

“I’m fine!” he snapped, gathering up the rucksack he’d dropped, hastily glancing at the market boys who were watching lazily from across the square, blowing streams of smoke into the air with the careful disinterest of youth.

The group kept moving, Péter marching ahead of them with furious steps and Tony sighed once more. If it wasn’t one thing it was another.

Thinking on the incident Tony couldn’t help but wonder how many friends Péter had. He certainly only wrote to a few that Tony had observed and even then most of the letters leaving the house were addressed to the Osborn boy.

He felt stab of pity, reminded once again of the children’s isolation. Why a trip into town was proving an absolute marvel for the little ones, as if they’d never been. From all that Tony had heard about Péter's illness and how it had kept him from public school he wouldn’t have been surprised if Péter had not been outside the grounds of his home all year. In a way, he was almost as cut off as Tony had been at the monastery.

He turned to glance behind them at the boys who had held Péter's attention. They were handsome youths. The pair clearly at work a sharp contrast with their classmates who were sporting neatly slicked hair to match their sharp uniforms. The bold swastika insignia on their shirts struck Tony as at odds with the sight of their wildly grinning mouths as they jostled each other, knocking shoulders, goading each other as the two boys who worked at the market put out their cigarettes and went back to work; strong, spindly arms grabbing aprons and calling out goodbyes to their peers in uniform.

“You can grow out of a sickness.”

Tony turned to look at Péter, shocked to hear him speak but not at all surprised to find that he was also looking back at the disbanding group of boys, his face expressionless.

“Even if you’ve had it for a while. It doesn’t always stay.”

Tony winced at the hopefulness in the child’s voice. It was a heart condition. He didn’t know much about heart conditions but he was almost certain you didn’t just grow out of them.

That said, Péter was without doubt the most active boy with a heart condition Tony had ever met and that was not as small a thing as one might think.

Being a monk wasn’t all hymns and chants, it meant regular, sometimes grueling, charity work and other forms of community service. Tony had accompanied the other brothers to the local orphanages when they’d given lessons and sermons; so he’d met his fair share of the damaged and abandoned. Perhaps heart conditions weren’t the same in young adults as they were in infants but those children had been small, frail little things, and Péter was slight for his age but hardly in a way that struck Tony as unhealthy.

It was one of the many things about the goings on in the Rogers household that sparked lingering questions in Tony’s mind, but until Bruce wrote back they were questions that would go unanswered

Péter gritted his teeth at Tony’s silence, a tick forming in his jaw.

“And often you don’t grow out of illness.” Tony replied and Péter looked stricken. “But it doesn’t matter because it’s just what you have, not who you are.”

Péter gaped at him, eyes searching his wonderingly and Tony shrugged in response, feeling suddenly uncomfortable with the naked emotion in the boy’s eyes.  He’d been so caught up in Péter’s dilemma that he’d almost forgotten he was holding Sara’s hand, who was struggling to keep up with their longer strides.

“Sara, bambina, this would be easier if you would just let me carry-”

“No! Herr Stark, no! I want to walk with you!” The girl pulled away from Tony’s reaching arms in protest. Her tiny hand was still clutched in Tony’s however and she didn’t get very far.

“Sara, honey, your legs are tired-”

“I hate all this.” Péter mumbled, seemingly unaware of Tony’s distraction. “I’m just as brave as Harry and the others. I could do anything they can do. I could.”

Tony finally managed to scoop up a squirming Sara. He tried to juggle his bicycle and a flailing toddler as he turned back to Péter.

“I know that! Your father knows that. You know that! Fuck everybody else.”

Péter froze, eyes wide at the strong language coming from his tutor (not to mention a monk) and Tony hastened to amend. “What I mean to say is, not everyone has the benefit of being believed in. Not something I’d rely on personally. If you believe in you that’s all that matters.”

“Not to the Führer.”

“Of course not to _him_. But the Reich is not a group I’d personally rely on either.”

Tony didn’t need to look at Natacha to feel her disapproval. He could see it reflected in the widening brown pools of Péter’s eyes. It was treason to speak against their fearless new leader and his regime. He couldn’t help a smirk of satisfaction, but it was ruined by the fact that a second later he had to dodge one of Sara’s swinging arms, the child still attempting to find her way back to the ground.

“Besides, Pete.” Péter frowned at the pet name, but Tony breezed on anyway. “Do you really want to join them so badly? I can think of plenty of reasons not to: those ridiculous haircuts for one. And all those rigid rules. You’d think you’d have had enough of it by now. It isn’t as if you don’t have a commanding officer at home.”

He knew it was playing with fire to go down this route of conversation. He could feel Natacha’s eyes glaring a hole into his back and he’d heard stories of children turning in their own parents for saying far tamer things than Tony was; but he could not hold silent and watch these children with good hearts and good minds wander blindly into such a nightmare.

He remembered the zeal of youth all too well, though he could hardly remember what Yensin had told him when he had begged his own father to let him enlist. Only that the words of wisdom had strengthened his desire to go. That was the folly of youth it seemed, and since Tony couldn’t, wouldn’t, repeat the words that Hughard had said to shoot his confidence full of holes he could only do this small thing: talk to a boy confused and try and help him see that being a man was about more than fighting battles.

Whether Péter realized it or not his friends were heading to war. You did not put children in uniform and teach them to march unless you were preparing an army. It chilled Tony to think that Péter might very well know and not care. Or worse, relish it.

Péter had gone silent at the mention of his father and Tony couldn’t blame him. Stef-Captain Rogers, Damn it!

The captain had been a source of contention the past few days with all of them. Even Pepper seemed on edge at the mention of the children’s father.

“Father doesn’t think anything” Péter finally grumbled. “Not about me anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony barked a laugh. “Were you missing in action when we met? A man without an opinion, your father is not.”

Least of all where his children were concerned.

“He’s…strict, yes Péter. But there are worse things a father could be.”

Far worse.

“And truth be told, your being too ill to join your friends might be more of a blessing than you yet realize. There are worse things that you could be too.”

Péter's jaw clicked shut. Tony knew that sound. The conversation was done, at least for now.

It was just as well. James was scuttling towards them excitedly. They’d caught sight of the carpenter’s shop.

 

*~*

 

Tony would call himself a practical man. One with his priorities in good order. Sometimes. Not now. Definitely not now.

The packages of supplies lay out in front of the children nearly obscuring his view of them.

Yes, he could see now that perhaps stocking up on his own much needed tools and supplies had been over ambitious when cycling with four children under the age of nine.

He heaved a sigh. The children blinked at him waiting patiently for instruction except for Natacha who smirked smugly.

Natural Science was her worst subject wasn't it? More science. That's what their curriculum needed.

There was nothing for it. They'd have to order a delivery for what they couldn’t carry. Mindful of his small salary, Tony was a little loath to admit it but…

He took a deep breath.

“James.”

The little boy was already at his side, practically wiggling with excitement. It was the most he'd ever looked like Artur.

“Yes, Herr Stark?” He looked earnest as a beaver, all red hair and blue eyes, and suddenly Tony could see so much of the captain in him that it was curious how quickly he melted.

Tony gestured at one of the packages, trying not to smile.

“Load up.”

Once the bags had been packed onto bikes and everyone situated, Tony led the children towards the south of town and up into a hill clearing that Frou Hogan had suggested over supper for a picnic lunch.

It was only a little way from the town, but even still it was a bit of a trek and the children were lagging what with the bundles of supplies tied to the back of their bikes. He couldn’t help but think he should have done things the other way around and taken them to lunch in the clearing first. The things you know after the fact.

When they finally reached the hilltop the children barely waited long enough for Tony to unpack their lunch bags and spread the blanket out before collapsing onto the grass. Not minding Artur’s sprawled form Tony placed their basket of food next to him and promptly flopped on to the ground in a similar fashion, exhausted.

For a time Tony and the children just lay, letting the sun shine down on them and the sweet summer breeze tickle their faces. Eventually though stomachs began to grumble, reminding them of their hunger and one by one the children attacked the spread of food like the seven ravenous little monsters they were and Tony grinned.

When he’d eaten his full Tony settled back into the grass and closed his eyes. He could sense the children staring at him, shuffling nervously, unsure what to do next.

Without opening his eyes, he waved a hand at them. Shooing them away like skittery butterflies.

“This is a free day. Go, play. Be as loud as you wish, do what you like, just don’t kill anyone.”

One pudgy hand slapped onto his chest and the other tried to pry one of his eye open (none too gently). Tony batted the hand away, rubbing his sore eye.

“ _Fermata_. Stop.”  
  
Maria squealed suddenly and Tony opened one eye. The children had spread out some but continued to blink at each other like surprised fish. Only Artur had made any move to play, unfortunately this meant he’d shared one look with Maria before she was shrieking and running away from her brothers out stretched arms.

Appeased, Tony settled back onto the blanket, keeping one ear open for distress.

He’d played on hill tops like this as a child, traveling with his parents through France and Belgium, or rather when he’d traveled with his father and a contingent of governess (his mother preferring to stay at their home in Pola whenever she could) or Yensin. Those trips had never been fun, his father parading him around until Tony’s use as a trophy for buyers and delegates was no longer needed and then handing him off to the governess of the hour.   

Genius Stark and prodigy.

Strange as it was Tony had never felt real autonomy until he’d become a monk, the brothers taking him as he was with all of his cracks and fissures. He remembered a night after his third attempt at running away, having been dragged back by Fil, Bruce had sat with him. He’d dressed Tony’s various cuts and bruises and simply sat with him, like he was sitting shiva.

Tony had cried in front of him for the first time, tears flowing freely, ugly and unstoppable. Bruce had sat with one hand on Tony’s back and eventually he’d started to murmur a tune: a little ditty he’d most likely heard from one of the woman who came for food.

_Di mattina non mangio perché penso a te,_

_a mezzogiorno non mangio perché penso a te,_

_di sera non mangio perché penso a te,_

_di notte non dormo perché ho fame._

He’d snorted through his tears but couldn't get enough breath through his laughter to tell Bruce that what he sang in his accented german was not in fact a lullaby for a child but a love song for the lovesick.

_In the morning I don't eat because I think of you._

But Bruce had smiled that little half smile he only ever seemed to bestow at Tony and quietly sang on, and Tony had lost himself in the sound of his voice and the stillness of the abbey at night.

 

He missed those moments when the noise inside his head could not be tamed by mechanics or drink.

In the Rogers bleak little villa there was no peace. Silence, yes. God was there ever silence. Open and thick like a heavy fog: an effect like being drunk without any of the benefit.

Why in God’s name the captain kept a music room and yet forbade music was beyond Tony.

Perhaps he was waiting on Himmler to join them for tea.

Tony’s thoughts drifted back to the brothers. With each passing day it was harder to swallow the chafing loneliness that followed thoughts of them. It had only intensified with Clinton's visit. He missed being a monk of all things! Nik must never know. Tony would never live down the embarrassment.    

“What are you singing?”

Tony opened one eye, frowning when he spotted Maria standing over him, her little red ball in hand. Artur was waiting impatiently behind her, waiting for her to throw the ball back.  

“What?”

She hesitated at the question, holding the ball close to her as if it were a shield. Tony’s heart squeezed.

“You were singing Herr Stark.” she mumbled.

Had he been?

“It sounded sad.” She crept forward and stopped just before her toes touched the blanket.

“Sing it again!” Artur, giving up on waiting for Maria to throw the ball skidded into Tony's side on his knees and rolled over onto his back, grinning as he mirrored his tutors sprawl in the grass. “You promised to teach us to sing!”

Natacha strolled past, a handful of little white flowers in her hand. She handed one of fragile things to Sara who promptly began to take it apart with glee.

“Father doesn't like us to sing.” she scolded.

“ _REALLY_?” Tony couldn't help the sarcasm. “Why is that, Tacha? Did he lose a fight with a mandolin.”

“No, cause It’s the _law.”_ Came James sing song response. The children stilled. Or rather the older children did. The three younger seemed to remain oblivious.

What law? Tony wondered. There were restrictions of course, delegated by the government, but nothing about the abolishment of all music.

He opened his mouth to ask when Natacha cut him off.

“Father wants us to be a proper, sensible, family. That means no nonsense James. Good families like ours don’t carry on like common gypsies.” She held her head up and if Tony hadn't been looking straight at her he might have believed her. He was looking at her however and could not miss the look she sent James way.

She was afraid. Tony had no idea of what but that settled it for him.

“We’re going to change his mind.” Tony announced and he didn’t miss the alarmed looks Péter and Natacha traded. “Rumor has it, he used to enjoy music. It’s a shame don’t you think, that he’s forgotten? There are enough terrible things in the world, it’s a pity to forget one of its most beautiful. But we’re going to remind him and by the time we finish you’ll sound so lovely he’ll forget all about laws against music.” He promised, touching Maria’s nose. The little girl beamed at him.

He didn't have to be looking at Natacha (or Péter for that matter) to know that they were wearing identical looks of incredulity.

“In Italian?” Maria asked fervently and Tony winked at her pulling her closer to him by her pinafore.

“I keep my promises, bambina.”

He did. Well when it suited him. It suited him now to keep every promise he’d made to her, to each of them. Which might be why all the promises he’d made to them could be counted on one hand. Tony had learned long ago the delicate math of lowering the average of broken promises.

**Promise one: Teach them to sing.**

**Promise two: Never lie.**

Maria nodded, pressing her cheek into her ball, suddenly shy again.

“What does it mean? What you sang. I couldn’t understand it.”

Tony sighed. No rest for the wicked. Not today it would seem.

“It’s a love song, bambina.” He rubbed his face and translated the lyrics Bruce had sung for him in the dark.

“At noon, I don't eat because I think of you. In the evening, I don't eat because I think of you,”

Artur’s head shot up.

“You don't eat! It sounds like a hungry song.” he said matter of factly.

Tony was startled into a laugh. Artur, for all his twig like limbs could eat for three. Sure enough,

“-I’m hungry!” Artur declared. “When is supper?”  

Natacha rolled her eyes, though there was fondness in her tone as she reprimanded him.

“You just ate Artur.”

“Alright, little potatoes gather round.” Tony clambered to his feet with a clap of his hands. The children gathered obediently (Natacha begrudgingly). “Let us get this lesson started shall we? It will distract certain bottomless pits we know from thinking about their stomachs.”

 

~*~*~

_Es tönen die Lieder,_

_Der Frühling kehrt wieder_

_Es spielet der Hirte_

_Auf seiner Schalmei_

_La la la la la la la la_

The Rogers children took the task of singing like new born colts, their voices shaky and uncertain as they looked to one another for permission to indulge in the pleasure that was uninhibited song.  But the little ones were so enthusiastic, so happy and eager to lift their voices and shout out over the hilltops that their merriment was infectious and slowly when it became clear that no one was going to appear to judge them, or berate them for engaging in such silliness, their siblings allowed themselves to become equally swept up.

Tony taught them an old school rhyme he’d been taught as a boy, making a game of it at first of who could be the loudest and follow him as closely as he pranced about the hill top, until there was no more thought of laws against music or their father’s disapproval.

And then, because it was a music _lesson_ after all, he taught them about breath and notes, how to keep time, and how a group of voices performing a round could create harmony, not to mention great fun.

Because they should have fun. They should be children, no matter what else the world wished to make of them. Tony needed to remember that now more than ever.

It took some effort to convince Artur that hitting notes was less about shouting progressively louder and more about pitching his voice, but Tony was pleased by the time they’d packed up their picnic and begun the reverse journey home to have pushed prodded and groomed all seven children into performing a startlingly professional sounding round.

Tony continued to conduct them, a grin breaking out over his face as his line of singing ducklings skipped through the square without missing so much as a note.

“Very good. _Fantastico_!” he beamed at them. The sweetness of their voices raised in song was almost as pleasing as the pride brimming in their eyes at his praise as they finally achieved perfect harmony.

_The songs are sounding,_

_The spring is back._

_The Shepard plays his pipe_

_La la la la la…_

A loud clatter pulled Tony’s attention away from the children, drew his eyes to across the square where an old man was standing in front of a store front with a tin bucket resting at his feet, water soaking one pant leg.

Tony remembered being a child, remembered the innocence with which he had approached the world- before angry bullets and an angrier mob had torn his family apart, before he’d ever believed that something so terrible as watching his parents murder could ever happen to him- and Tony remembered down to the last second, how it felt to have innocence torn away.

The old man stood alone in a crowd, passerby looking anywhere and everywhere but at the old man standing outside a ramshackle shop. Perhaps it was the crude yellow star across its doors, or the cruder words painted across its windows, or perhaps it was the pair of young men at his back, youthful shoulders straight and proud, backs as stiff as soldiers as they pointed first to the bucket at the old man’s feet and then to the graffiti littering the walls.

Either way the people did not look. They hurried by, eyes downcast, like mice scurrying back into their holes.

The children had stopped singing, baffled voices trailing off to follow his enraptured gaze to the scene unfolding meters away.

“It’s not break time, pick it up!” one of the boys was ordering gruffly and the old man bent his crooked back slowly to comply, bones creaking.

He heard Natacha murmur to Péter, “Isn’t that Robert and Johann?” and Tony realized that these boys were two of the same ones they’d spotted earlier on their way in. Swallowing past the tightness gripping his throat Tony pushed forward, urging the children silently on 

“What are they doing?” he heard Artur ask curiously behind him and that feeling of tightness in his chest just got tighter.

“They’re facilitating a cleanup, James” Péter explained. “It doesn’t look good, all that junk littering the streets.”

“But why are they making that old man do it?” Tony could hear the confusion in Artur’s voice but it didn’t stop the painful burning in his chest when James replied, as eager as a schoolboy in classroom who knew he had the correct answer for once.

“Because it’s the law! Jews have to do whatever we tell them to.”

Tony blocked their voices out. His heart was beating so wildly in his chest, it was difficult to breathe, each forward step more difficult than the last and dark spots appeared in front of his eyes.

He grit his teeth. A few more steps. A few more steps and they’d be past the old man with the sad brown eyes, past the young men in the smart uniforms with their sharp toothy grins. Just a few more steps.

The old man tripped again, the bucket of water clearly too heavy for him. It slipped from his gnarled hand and fell to the cobblestones with a thud and a clatter sending sudsy water spilling over the street and splashing their shoes.

The children jumped back, as if the bucket had contained a nest of snakes, and Tony froze, anticipating what was to come.

For one horrible moment the old man’s sad brown eyes meet his: beseechingly. Tony just stared. One of the boys pulled a small wooden bat from his belt and slammed it across the old man’s shoulders with an angry curse.

“Judenschwein!”

He heard the crack of the bat, hitting frail bone. Herd one of the girls, Maria he thought, let out a horrified gasp but he couldn’t look at any of them.  Those dark spots were dancing in front of his eyes and Tony kept hearing those officers from his childhood cursing Yinsen as they beat him into the ground.

_Jewish pig! Jewish pig!_

“Herr Stark?”

Tony was pulled from the violent memory by a pair of small hands tugging sharply at the hem of his shirt. For a moment he almost didn’t recognize Ian, his sight full of terrified brown eyes and blood, almost unable to process the sight of the child in front of him.

Blond hair, gleaming in the summer sun, long fingers twisting in Tony’s shirt as he called his name, voice wavering anxiously despite the strength of his grip.

“Herr Stark. The girls are scared.”

A terrified sniffle drew his attention to the others. Natacha had her arms around Maria and Sara who had frightened tears on their faces, moving her body to block their view of the man being beaten; but nothing could block out the sounds.

And just like that Tony snapped back to the moment, driven by the realization that he couldn’t give in to the panic or the fear because he had seven young charges to look after, seven children, whose father he’d given a promise, that he would protect them with everything he had – seven children who were being groomed to behave just as monstrously as these cowardly youths, but whom were still children, and they were terrified.

“We’re leaving,” he snapped scooping Sara up. The child clung to him tightly, pressing her face close to his chest. Tony began to march away, resolutely turning his back on the ugly scene, on eyes so much like Yinsen’s beseeching him.

“James!” Natacha snapped over her shoulder, and the boy snapped out of his horrified daze to grab Artur who was standing beside Péter, clutching his brother’s shirt with one hand as he watched the violence unfolding, driven to solemn silence.

One of the boys looked up from kicking the old man, his laughter fading as he caught sight of Péter and his siblings, his eyes going wide with delighted recognition.

“Péter!” the boy, the one Natacha had called Johann, hailed with a hearty wave. “Your father finally let you out of bed? Come join us! We’re cleaning the streets. That is if this old dog can still get back up.”

Tony heard the sound of someone spitting violently and turned. He saw Péter hesitate, saw the war going on in his eyes and the long horrible moment of consideration that held him back even as Tony and his siblings fled.

“Péter!” Tony barked, causing the boy to nearly jump out of his skin. He flushed an embarrassed red as his beastly friends snickered.  Tony did not give a damn at that moment how it made Péter feel, to be ordered about like a child. Remembering that he was a child was the only thing keeping Tony’s rage in check.

“We’re going home. Come now!”

He heard Péter mumble something about having lessons and Tony gritted his teeth (so tight he thought his teeth would crack) continuing their vigorous march as Péter scrambled to catch up with them.

~*~*~*~

 

“Take them.”

Péter watched helplessly as Herr Stark shoved past their butler. He’d not waited for the door to completely open before he was rushing up the steps, leaving Péter and his siblings clustered in the entrance way.

“Herr Stark!”

Péter followed their tutor, unsure of what to do now that they were home. The journey back had been miserably quiet. The girls had sniffled the whole way but Herr Stark hadn’t said a word to them that wasn’t barking at Ian and James to keep up.

Their tutor’s strange behavior had unnerved Péter almost as much as seeing the old man beaten. It wasn’t like Herr Stark to be so cold, especially where the girls were concerned. He hadn’t even looked at Sara, who had clung to him the entire ride with tears streaming down her face.

How could he show such little compassion after what they had seen?

The old man… Péter could still see his eyes, hear the sound of boots thudding against his flesh… he’d never seen anything like that before. It had scared the little ones… and rightly so. But he couldn’t be scared. There was a reason behind what Johann and Bobby had done, even if it had been a frightening thing to witness. That was part of being an adult. You had to protect yourself, protect the people you loved, because there were bigger and scarier things out there.

He was too old to be scared. He _wasn’t_. Honest. And Herr Stark had lived through the great war! He should be as brave as Péter was trying to be. Braver! He should be helping calm the girls, and helping Péter explain it to Artur who was pale and terrified because Péter didn’t know what words to use! He couldn’t just walk away from them.

“Herr Stark wait!” he cried.

“Go play, Péter.” 

Péter blinked. Tony hadn’t even turned around. Never once had Herr Stark dismissed him so thoughtlessly, as if he couldn’t even see Péter. That was more his father’s style. Herr Stark didn't turn around as he climbed the stairs.

Péter stood, shuffling his feet as his gut wriggled and burned, unsure of what to do. If it where his father he would turn and do what he was commanded, perhaps not speak to him for a day or two in punishment (as if his father had ever felt any real loss at not speaking to him) but with Herr Stark, things had been different.

He’d seemed to like Péter… Péter liked him.

Feeling wrong footed Péter called out pitifully to the man’s retreating back.

“Come back! They were just doing their job.”

To Péter’s surprise Herr Stark did stop. He turned slowly around to face him with an aghast expression.

“Their _job_?”

Tony made the word sound strangled even though if Péter hadn’t been standing close enough to know otherwise, he would have sworn that Tony’s mouth hadn't moved at all. Péter had heard his father sound like that before. That same timber, that same hardening around the lips heralding an explosion of temper: dangerous. Péter took a step back.

“It was their _job_ to force an old man to clean up his own blood? Blood they spilt!” Tony barked and Péter winced.

This felt like another one of Tony’s strange tests. Péter was supposed to have grasped something, but once again he’d missed the important details, failed to ask the right questions.

What had he missed? His frantic mind tried to piece it together, tried to figure out why Tony was so terrible upset and how to make it better, but he couldn’t think past the loud buzz of panic in his brain and the taunting memory of that old man’s cries and the sight of his bloodied face.

Péter was nearly sure he knew the answer - it was the old man - but knowing it had his stomach seized in knots.

He didn’t know what Tony wanted him to say. He shouldn’t be explaining this to his tutor, Tony should be helping him explain things! Tony should be the one saying something to make this all better, to make that horrible need that Péter felt to find a table to hide under go away. He wasn’t a child anymore. He could take it!

Flushed with shame and swallowing the sudden urge he had to burst into tears like a useless baby, Péter bit out through his clenched teeth, “He was just a Jew.”

Herr Stark stared at him. Péter had never felt more like one of Artur’s beetles, Tony’s eyes pinning him in place. Swallowing back the lump logged in his throat Péter didn’t back down. He stood straight, head lifted proudly the way he’d seen his father do so many times and stood his ground.

“He must have done something wrong, if we’d asked Joh-”

“Enough!”

The shout rang out through the hallway and Péter blanched, heart dropping into his stomach. Behind them he could hear his siblings stir, the breath they sucked in, the cry of one of the little girls before she was hushed by a low murmur from Natacha. Then everything went still.

He did not take his eyes away from Tony’s, not because he wasn’t scared, not because he didn’t want to; but because he felt that if he looked away something terrible would happen. 

“Péter…” His name cracked from Tony’s throat and Péter was suddenly, undeniably afraid.  “It’s enough.”

 

Péter and his sibling stood in the hall watching as Tony turned on his heel and disappeared.

 

~*~*~

 

Péter looked up as Natacha closed the door to his room, a magazine tucked under her arm and two glasses of Fruchtschorle balanced on a tray. 

“The boys were sweaty.” She said by way of explanation and Péter nodded. Knowing their cook Willamina, she would have taken one look at the haggard state of them and starting putting together enough comfort food to feed an army.

“Did you...” Péter fumbled to a stop, suddenly embarrassed to ask after Tony. He wasn’t sure why. Herr Stark was their tutor after all. Part of them. The household that was. Father had always maintained that the household was important, even the staff, because they were all family and as head of the house it was very important for him to care for the people within it. With Father gone that meant Péter was the head.  

“Did you give everyone else a drink?” He settled for, taking the cool glass his sister offered and leaning back against his headboard.

Natacha snickered into her drink.

“There wasn’t much left after the boys had their turn. I had to steal the pitcher away from James.” With a prim press of her lips, ruined slightly by the way her tongue darted out to chase the sweet droplets on her lips, Natacha sighed. “Frou Hogan should really talk to father about his temper. James is too old to be behaving that way. Even Artur doesn’t throw so many tantrums.”

Péter shrugged, not bothering to answer. Natacha had always been better at taking control of the house than he had, warming eagerly to their responsibilities as the eldest.

“It’s an embarrassment.” She went on after a moment. “We don’t want another Christmas like before.” 

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and giggled. Péter fought a grin. Natacha was like father. She used to laugh more.

She'd danced too, mostly strong arming Péter into what might be called a waltz by forest gnomes. When the boys had come along they'd become her dance partners.

James still watched her expectantly when he thought no one was looking, whenever there was music.

He watched as she flicked open her magazine and scowled at one of the photos.

“Giesela Keats, Champion runner? I could run circles around her.” She said proudly looking up at Péter expectantly.

As far as little sisters went Péter had always considered himself pretty lucky. Natacha liked most of the games he did and was actually better at them than most boys. She’d beaten Péter and Harry most the time at their contests.

They’d been closer back then.

“Course you could, Tacha.”

Mother used to say they were ‘wild as gypsies’ but nobody said that about them anymore.

They’d had to grow up, because everybody did. He was a man now and Natacha a young woman. But sitting with her, hearing her laugh, Péter could not help but think that maybe Herr Stark had been right. There were enough terrible things in the world. Why must they forget how to laugh? Natacha should dance again. Maybe they all should.

He reached over to tug on one of her red braids. The Christmas that James had embarrassed them all had been their first without Mama. None of them had been well then, especially James who had still been weak from the flu and had been in a funny mood, dumping his glass down the front of their cousin’s blouse in a fit of temper.

Yes, they could all use a bit more fun around here.

Natacha swatted Péter away and took another sip of her drink. Snuggled comfortably next to Péter she flipped the pages off her magazine and for a time they sat in silence.

He knew Natacha. Each page turn sounded like a crack of thunder in the still room and with each turn she seemed to be nailing her resolve into place, as if she could simple flip what had happened onto a different page, where on the other hand Péter couldn't seem to erase the shuttered horror in Tony’s eyes from his mind.

It made him itchy and uncomfortable in his stomach.  

Willamina and Frou Hogan were fawning over the little ones in the kitchen, wiping sweaty brows and tear stained faces, griping about heat exhaustion and Herr Stark’s irresponsibility; because neither Péter nor Natacha had dared breathed a word about what had really happened. 

It wasn’t bad… at least it wasn’t supposed to be; but it had felt bad, and it was nothing for the little ones to have seen, and if Frou Hogan knew she likely would not let Tony take them out of the house anymore and Péter wasn’t alone in his desire to escape the confines of their home.

Next to him Natacha took an unsteady breath and Péter glanced at her. Her hand shook as she turned the next page.

“Father wouldn't like the way Herr Stark behaved this afternoon...” she drifted off, uncertainty in her voice. “I wish he were home. Then none of that would have happened.” 

“Of Course not. We'd still be at home cooped up inside.” Péter reminded her duly.

Natacha sent him a sharp look and Péter resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his stomach already sinking into the ground.

“Herr Stark knew better. He _knew_ father’s rules and still decided to disobey-”

“Oh, because he knew _that_ would happen?” Péter sneered, suddenly irritated with her presence and all her stupid page turning. “He’s a monk, Tacha, not a seer and you wanted to go into town as much as anyone!”

“Well I didn't know what would happen either!” She stuttered, her face going a little red. “He should have known better. You have a heart condition!” She flicked the page aggressively.

“The boys couldn't even keep up!”

Was she being deliberately stupid? Péter growled. No, tacha was too much like their mother.

Rules where all they had and tacha had taken to keeping them like religion.

“Tacha it wasn’t his fault!” Péter insisted, tired of beating around the bush. “That shouldn’t have happened. Something went wrong. Harry never mentioned- no one mentioned... what did that old man do?”

She pressed her lips together, just like she always did when she was trying hard to be a lady, usually with dirt under her nails.

“I’m not sure.” She sniffed. “But it was a good thing Bobby and Johann were there to... keep things in order. Who knows what could have happened. The children could have been hurt.”

She gazed at him and Péter didn't recognize the look in her eyes. It was hard and guarded and made him feel uneasy in his own room.

There used to be a time when he could recognize every look she gave him.

He took another sip of his drink, the fruit tasting sour when it hit the back of his throat.

All he could think of was the sound of skin on pavement, the look in Tony’s eyes, and that hard look in Natacha’s.

“Father should garnish his wages.” she mumbled.

That was the last straw. Péter downed the rest of his drink, like he'd seen his uncle Bucky do countless times with his beer and stood up. Natacha watched him fretfully.

“He should, Péter.”

Péter snatched the tray from its place on his dresser and tried not to rip the handle off his door when he reached it.

“Where are you going?” Now even his brave little sister sounded afraid.

He hardly stopped to throw out a reply before he shut his door with a click.

 

~*~*~*~

 

 _Entreat me not to leave you and to return from following after you; for wherever you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge; your people are my people, and your God is my God; where you die I will die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if anything but death part you and me. - The book of Ruth._  

 

Tony was sitting alone in his room when a hesitant knock on the door pulled his attention away from the small leather bound book open upon his lap.

“Herr Stark?” Péter’s uncertain voice came through the thick door and Tony felt a stab of pain, the origins of which he could neither place nor properly define. The annoyance of having his solitude interrupted intermingled with the pressing memory of Péter’s stricken expression as he’d abandoned the boy in the hall.

He’d gone in search of the only thing he’d known would numb the pain because fuck his responsibilities. Fuck being a good example to the children: these children with their mouths open, eager to have their milk teeth sharpened into fangs and to take their bite of the world. And fuck Antony Eduard Stark, that cowardly hypocrite of hypocrites for just standing there doing nothing while they tortured that old man. Fuck him most of all.

Though Tony did not reply to his knock Péter slowly opened the door, his brown head of hair poking inside before he cautiously crossed the threshold. He paused in the doorway, his eyes catching on a spot on the wall near the window where the remnants of a broken bottle lay scattered beneath a large creeping stain.

Tony hadn't been seriously drunk in a long time, but after leaving Péter and the others he’d felt a thirst the likes he hadn’t felt since his first year at the monastery.

He’d gone straight to Willamina’s supply of schnapps and retreated into the solitary of his room. He’d been half way through the bottle before the rage bubbling inside of him had become overwhelming, not in the least numbed by the spirits. He’d thrown the bottle against the wall and watched it break with a crash, bits of glass tinkling as the walls dripped, the room filled with the pungent scent of alcohol.

He’d relished it (the proper mess of it all) and thought it good.

Good, good, good. The good Austrians could clean it up.

And then he’d screamed, uncaring of who might hear or what the household might think if they did. Damn them all. Damn the whole house and damn Captain Rogers most of all. Rogers should be here. He should be there to clean up this _senseless_ mess. He should be in the streets with those fucking little _monsters_ cleaning up blood and sick. He and all the other good Austrians should be made to line the walls with their own insides. How _dare_ they! 

And just as rage with no discernible outlet so often does, as suddenly as it had come it left, and Tony had sunk onto the bed with a tired sob.

He didn’t know what had made him remember the bible shoved at the bottom of his trunks. He’d known only that he was tired, a tired so deep in his breast that it ached like a wound, and something about holding that little book in his hands and flipping through it had managed what the liquor had not, his mind quieting as it focused on the familiar verses and the scent of old pages and worn leather.

To think that despite all his mockery and best efforts, after all these years the rituals of faith (if not the belief) could be so calming. It was almost funny. Bruce would have been proud.

“What do you want Péter?” Tony asked and the boy’s eyes flew from the mess in the corner back to him. As if snapped from a daze Péter’s mouth shut into a firm line, his back straighter and prouder than it had any right to be on a body so young and untried. Tony didn’t know what to think about the feeling of mirth that overtook him, watching this gangly boy (all limbs and bravado) square his jaw and ask with the sobriety of a seasoned General whether or not Tony was feeling fit to come out of his room.

“It was a trying day for all of us I think, not just the little ones… You weren’t well earlier.” Péter hedged and there was something too observant in his eyes, too knowing, that made Tony want to squirm. He’d been playing a dangerous game with his life saying the things he’d said to the children that day, giving in to a panic attack and all manner of erratic behavior when the reason why it was so important for him to stay in control was playing out right in front of him. Péter was an extremely intelligent boy and Tony had been _so_ careless.

The fear tightening in his stomach eased when Péter, flushing slightly in embarrassment but soldiering on with conviction confessed, “My father gets that way sometimes. He doesn’t like us around when he’s like that. He’d rather be alone I guess, but I don’t know if you like to be and I thought someone should ask.”

Relief washed through Tony as he realized that Péter had come, not because he had suspicions or thought ill of Tony for the things he’d said, but because he’d looked behind Tony’s behavior and recognized his fracturing mind for what it was… something he’d been alone in for more years than he wanted to count. And Péter had recognized it because he’d seen the same symptoms in his father?

Tony had been dealing with the nightmares and the waking dreams, the shivers and sweats, all on his own for years; he didn’t know why he had such a hard time picturing the captain dealing with the same weakness but he could definitely imagine him pushing his family away and refusing help because of it. Stubborn idiot.

He sighed, letting the last of his tension drain from his body before patting the bed beside him. Péter clambered aboard with a hopeful if shy enthusiasm that had a smile tugging at Tony’s lips.

“That is very kind of you Péter.”

“What are you reading?” Péter asked after a moment of getting himself settled. “The Bible?” He leaned down to stare at the pages in Tony’s lap and wrinkled his nose with the same lack of enthusiasm that Tony usually brought to all matters of faith and this time Tony didn’t fight the smile.

“The book of Ruth.” He answered. And then, because Péter was a warm body pressed up against his with such a sweetness in his eyes it put Tony’s earlier thoughts to shame, he heard himself say, “My mother would get awfully maudlin around this time of year. She’d put me to bed and tell me ‘no magazines tonight Tony; but do you want to hear about the greatest adventure of them all?’ Are you familiar with the story, Péter?”

And of course Péter nodded because like Tony he had been raised at mass like any good catholic boy; but even Hughard’s best attempts to control his home and put their best socially and politically aligned foot forward had been enough to completely silence Maria Carboni or her pride in her heritage.

Buried in the heap of sad memories that constituted Tony’s boyhood there were happier memories of his mother. Her whispered stories and endless lists of songs and proverbs, honeyed apples to welcome in a new year ahead of the flock (a new year all their own), matzo cooked by loving hands and shared like a secret within his mother’s garden, putting him to bed with the story of Ruth because _“Antony, don’t you know? It’s Shabbat. On Shabbat we remember.”_

He’d always been too smart not to understand what it meant that his mother was a Jew, that _he_ was by right a Jew, but with the filter of youth it had seemed a wonderful game; how nice to have something just their own, how nice to have wonderful secrets to keep from Hughard.

Those early summers back when he’d been a boy as young as Sara, when they’d journey from their villa atop the hill down into the village where she’d spent her days as a girl to visit his grandparents and his uncles, had seemed like a grand adventure. She was Ruth come home again.

Nonna used to kiss him and sigh as she stroked his cheek. She’d always looked so sad as she’d called him her little _patatino_ that he’d refused to eat potatoes for years. He’d had to get older before he realized there was a whole lot wrong with the secret adventures he and his mother had shared, and a whole lot of other reasons besides potatoes for his nonna to bear such a terrible sadness.

“This book is not so bad,” Tony mused aloud tapping the pages of the bible. “Lot of things a guy can learn if he’s paying attention. Take Ruth. Ever thought about it Pete? A young woman alone. She goes from being a princess with everything she could possibly want to shack up with a foreigner, a guy so different from her it was like night and day, but she must have seen something in him, something worth giving all that up for. Then he has the nerve to go and die on her and she’s got nothing, not penny to her name and no protection.

She’s got a chance to go back home. She’s young and pretty. She could maybe find some fellow willing to overlook the fact that she married outside of her own people the first go around, sit pretty and maybe once a year think back and wonder what might have become of Naomi; but instead she sticks by her, journeys into the mouth of the unknown just so they can be together. She had faith that whatever life they built together no matter how poor would be better than any she could find on her own if she turned her back and walked away from what was right. She must have found who she wanted to be in Naomi’s family… I’m envious Péter. I’d like to be so certain. Wouldn’t you?”

Péter, who had curled his knees up to his chin stared up at Tony with warm brown eyes, something vulnerable in them as he nodded wordlessly. And then he sighed and said, “Mom used to tell us stories too.”

None of the children had ever voluntarily talked about their mother before. She was a ghost lingering over the entire household and yet nobody in the house seemed willing to so much as speak her name for fear of upsetting the captain. But the children should speak of her, remember her, if that was what they needed to do. Tony tried to trod carefully.

“You must miss her a lot.”

“It’s been almost three years.” Péter shrugged, though there was nothing convincingly careless in the gesture. The boy was stiff and he seemed no longer able to look at him, his hand unconsciously gripping the comforter and twisting. “Artur barely remembers her... Maria and Sara will never really know her. James remembers more but I think that just makes him mad. He was younger than Maria when she got sick. He used to go in her room all the time even though Father told us not to bother her.”

“I’m sure she didn’t think it was a bother.”

“I don’t think so either. She said it didn’t… mom was really kind. She told us stories too, about her and Father and the adventures they had during the war...” Péter trailed off, hands anxiously twisting the comforter and Tony could tell that he was building up to something so he stayed silent, though he took Péter’s hands in his if only to save the poor comforter. “Natacha thinks Father would have agreed with them but I don’t… I don’t think mom would have liked what Bobby and Johann did today Herr Stark. Even if it _was_ their job.”

The admission was small and quiet and Tony did not miss either the confusion or fear behind it but he was overcome by such a feeling of tenderness and sorrow for the boy at his side (and such guilt for his words and thoughts of earlier) that he pulled Péter close and hugged him tightly.

“Well, some people say it is important to listen to the wisdom of our mothers and learn from the follies of our fathers. It sounds like good advise so lets not question it.”

Péter laughed and Tony smiled down at him. 

“And don’t think I haven’t noticed this Herr Stark business. I told you to call me Tony or Antony if you have to. I knew a Herr Stark and he was beastly.” Péter laughed again full bodied and wiped the last remnants of wetness away from his eyes.

“Alright Tony.”

Clapping his hands together smartly Tony pushed himself up and climbed off the bed with renewed purpose.

“Alright then come along, we’d better round up the others. It won’t do for all of us to sit around the house crying and wondering about the state of the others.” 

“I think Frou Hogan took the little ones for a bath.” Péter offered helpfully even as he scrambled to follow.

They did indeed find Pepper in the nursery with the girls and little Artur, all freshly bathed and scrubbed pink, dressed for bed despite not having yet had their supper.  At the sight of him Artur shrank back and Tony’s heart twisted in his chest but he barely had time to process the emotion he felt because Sara slipped off of Pepper’s lap and toddled across the room like a miniature missile to throw her arms around his knees. After a moment’s deliberation Maria rushed to do the same and Artur was on her heels like a shadow.

Tony had never been more grateful for the forgiving hearts of youth as he scooped the girl up and pressed her close.

“No more yelling.” Sara cried, burying her cold nose against his neck and Tony heartily agreed.

“No more yelling, _patatina_ , I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize it takes us so long to get these chapters out. The next chapter is rather transitional and therefore should be out quicker. Steve is coming home with Bucky in tow, and given the nature of what has occurred while he was away I doubt Tony will be able to keep his promise about yelling being done in the house. But you have our promise that after this harrowing bit some healing fluffy family times are on the way. Calm before the storm? 
> 
> We also want to thank you from the bottom of our hearts for sticking with this story and all of your feedback. It gives us inspiration to keep pushing through. You're all lovely. What do you think Steve's going to do when he learns what Tony has been up to?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve and Bucky return from Vienna and there is lots of adjusting. Steve hasn't caught on yet that he's lost complete control of his household and that Tony doesn't respond well to orders. Tony's still figuring out that spy thing, that parenting thing (which is funny because he doesn't remember getting anyone pregnant and there are other people who really need to step up their game) and that whole 'play it safe thing'. Lets just say the first is a work in progress, the following is complicated, and the last is all but dead. Bucky has no idea what the hell is happening but neither does Steve, so like usual they make good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is so long we split it into two parts, which means that you'll be getting another chapter sooner rather than like in two months from now. Thank you again for sticking with us and our hectic schedules. Your wonderful comments and insights give us life! *Once again a warning for period typical responses to PTSD and other psychological disorders.*

 

_“We demand that the National Socialist Youth, and all other young Germans, irrespective of class or occupation, between fourteen and eighteen years of age, whose hearts are affected by the suffering and hardships afflicting the Fatherland, and who later desire to join the ranks of the fighters against the Jewish enemy, the sole originator of our present shame and suffering, enter the Youth League of the NSDAP.” - Völkischer Beobachter, published March 1922_

 

Tony had sat up most of the night planning that days lesson. The events they’d witnessed at the market could not go unaddressed and Tony could not leave them so. In this endeavor he had to step carefully but step he must. He’d stood still and watched too many times already for his soul to bear.

He might have had an excuse as a boy still reeling from the deaths of his parents and the loss of all his familiars… but Tony wasn’t a child any longer. Now he was the tutor of seven young minds who would fall prey to a degenerative system aimed to silence those minds, so brimming with questions and blooming ideologies.

Standing still might keep him safe true enough. But as Tony sat mentally turning pages of books long ago etched into memory, considering and considering, he had taken a deep breath and come to a certainty. He was not made for standing still.

Tony strolled into the music room five minutes past their usual start time after noon break, unsurprised to find his charges lined from oldest to youngest patiently in wait. As requested they were all changed from their school uniforms into their play clothes, all except for Natacha.

She stood out like a flag amongst her siblings in the newly fitted dark blue skirt of her _Jungmaedel_ uniform with her painfully white blouse. Her black neckerchief was tied precisely under her neck and her red hair was perfectly pleated to form a crown around her head. And my, did she not look every inch the queen at court, poised to pass judgment on them all.

As the children had raised their arms to give the required salute Tony raised a hand to halt them, waving their arms back down. He met their wary eyed confusion with the smile of the fearless.

“Let’s do away with the formality shall we? I’m sure you’re all curious as to why I asked you here and I won’t keep you in suspense. I thought we’d focus on a special lesson this afternoon and it’s lengthy so let us get started. Please take your seats.”

Tony gestured towards the stately couches lining both walls and the matching sitting chairs. He was glad to see that despite how little used the room was the maids were meticulous in their dusting and polishing. As the children trickled out of formation to find spots for themselves Tony moved to stand at the front of the piano in the center of the room and waited once more for quiet.

“I wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was beastly and an adult ought to know better, shouldn’t he?”

Though most of the children just stared back at him suspiciously (as if they were being tested) Maria hummed her agreement with a nod, smiling approvingly at him and Tony’s lips twitched with amusement. He’d already been forgiven as far as the little ones and Péter were concerned but the apology (much as it hurt his pride to have to give it) was still important.

“It’s rather stupid to blame children for not understanding what they haven’t been given an opportunity to understand. You know how I hate stupidity… but I find myself in the rare position of having to apologize for it. So enjoy this while it lasts. I suppose this means I have to reevaluate my level of intelligence as it may have dropped by a small percentage. That still leaves me miles ahead of everyone else but I hate miscalculations.”

As he’d hoped, words that would have had Father Niklas glowering and accusing Tony of all sorts of vanity and arrogance had James grinning with a wicked sort of delight and a chorus of hesitant snickers and giggles coming from the others. Natacha was the only one who remained silent. The girl watched him with the blankest of expressions.

Soberly Tony glanced from one child to the next, being sure to meet each eye as he said, “In light of what you’ve given me the opportunity to learn about myself I’d like, going forward, for this classroom to be a place where you are safe to educate your minds without fear. I’d also like it to be a place where you do not have to fear educating me. In fact, I hope you come to relish it. Now… is there anything at all you’d like to ask?”

For a moment following his speech there was just silence and then finally one of them proved brave.

“You mean you want us to teach _you_ things, Herr Stark?” Ian’s brow was not the only one burrowed in confusion. Artur’s eyes were wide with uncertainty, his fingers creeping towards his mouth as he glanced nervously between his siblings.

Tony nodded opening his mouth to elaborate but Natacha smoothly interrupted before he could get a word out.

“You are our teacher. We are your students. Students don’t question their teacher’s Herr Stark.”

“That’s drivel.” Natacha’s eyes narrowed in fury and Tony met her angry gaze with a firm expression of his own. “I’m sorry _patatinia_ but it is. You’re questioning me right now. The Führer called for complete education reform and he was once a student of many fine teachers, some he liked, some he clearly did not. Now everything has changed to reflect what he likes.”

“That’s because it was wrong before.” She insisted. “We were not being taught the correct things. There were bad people who poisoned our country and the minds of its young people and the Führer put a stop to it!”

“Which country is that exactly, Natacha, Germany or Austria?” Tony rebutted with a curious lift of one eyebrow. His gaze fixed on his oldest female charge didn’t prevent him from noticing the way James’ mouth had fallen slightly open and the other children were moving their heads back and forth between him and Natacha like spectators at a tennis match.

“There is no difference.” She bit out through gritted teeth. “We’re all German now.”

“Are you quite sure?” Tony asked quietly. “Last year there was a world of difference and for almost one hundred and fifty years before that. But our beloved Führer put an end to all of the ways in which, for a century or more, a group of people who built their own society before his very existence were learning incorrectly. This one man. He must have keen passion for education.”

There was a pregnant pause, in which Natacha sat silently seething, until beside her Péter took a slow breath and hesitantly spoke.

“… Actually. The Führer says that intellectualism and vain artistry has made Germans soft. He says that books provide too wide a window for corruption to enter the mind and that good citizens know that what Germany needs is dedicated men and women for labor and service.”

Natacha cast Péter a cold expression as Tony nodded in agreement, relief washing through him.

“And yet even the Führer attends the opera. He’s crazy about Tristan and Isolde. He also fancies himself a bit of a painter. And the might of his mighty army is birthed off the labors of not just servicemen but the engineers who build his ships, weapons, and tanks. It seems to me that the Führer finds great value in artists and intellectuals despite saying otherwise.”

It was silent as the children digested his treasonous words. Tony could hope of course that the little ones would listen to him out of hand, because he was a trusted elder and was to be listened to as a matter of course. They couldn’t completely grasp the notion that he might be bad, might be someone they shouldn’t trust.

But Ian and the older set were certainly old enough to understand defiance when they saw it and could easily decide to complain to another adult. Tony would be arrested and taken to jail where he’d likely be found guilty of treason because the trial would be a sham and he had no intention of pleading anything but guilty to the charges. He’d be sentenced to death.

Tony watched Natacha closely but her expression was guarded. He could not tell how his words had landed with her at all. Perhaps even now she intended to go to Pepper or Hammer to tell them about the things that Tony had said. So be it.

“It is my job to help you become the best versions of yourselves that you possibly can be, so there will be no shirking of either your intellect or your artistry in my classroom; and to have a real chance at either you must be given the freedom to question. The Führer may very well be an exception, but Antony Stark is just a man…” Tony took a breath and then went on with more gravity than he’d ever given any speech in his life.

“And children, if you believe nothing else I teach you, believe that all men should be questioned. Gustav Wyneken believed that. He also believed that true learning could only be done in a place where students were free to arouse their passions, where educators felt free to indulge those passions – morally and carefully, despite accusations to the contrary - in a search for higher understanding of ourselves and our surroundings.” Tony explained to them as he moved behind the piano to take his seat at the bench.

“He founded Germany’s first free school, a school for free thinking. The fundamentals and teachings which were at the heart of the _Wandervogel_ , otherwise known as the German Youth Movement; the League of German Girls and Hitler’s Youth was born from their structure. The Führer must have admired their accomplishments greatly.”

“The wandervogel are dreamers. Silly children with backward thoughts who refused to grow up.” Natacha challenged and Tony smiled, because if she thought he was going to ask the children to start challenging the thoughts of others and then get mad when she challenged his, she was mistaken.

“Perhaps, but what makes Hitler’s Youth any different? You dream of a better world. A pure Germany for all German peoples, stability and prosperity for your great nation. Your youth does not preclude you from longing for a place in the world or a willingness to create change with action. If anything it gives you courage far beyond your years and that is powerful. The Führer knows. He commends you for it every day, doesn’t he? And so do I.”

Tony clapped his hands and waved for the children to join him at the piano. He was touched by their show of eagerness, Maria all but tripping over herself to be the first one to reach his side. Natacha followed behind the others her steps measured and face still unreadable.

“And since we’ve all had enough heavy thoughts for a lifetime we’re going learn a bit more about music now and be grateful that we’re together, happy, and that I’m beautiful.”

He winked at Maria who beamed up at him and felt something in his chest clench when James barked a startled laugh which quickly turned into an embarrassed cough.

“Don’t you mean handsome Tony?” Péter asked with a fond roll of his eyes and Tony made an affronted sound.

“I meant exactly what I said. Now: we’re going to return to our lesson on harmony. Artur, _patatino_ you’ve a fine set of lungs but you’re still singing over your brothers so let’s try something new...”

As the lesson moved smoothly into music Tony could not help but feel a glimmer of hope. He could not say what was to come; maybe he already suspected that a hangman’s rope lay in his future, but that was alright. There were worse things to be than dead.

 

~*~*~*~

_“The world is so high, hey, I have to die. Hey, I have to die. Hey, nothing hurts me, God, nothing.”_

_A Roma sorrow song as recited by Varhaňovce, 2001._

 

 

_So hin učo oda svetos, hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav._

_Hej, de te merel, jaj, mušinav, hej, de ňič man Devla ňič na dukhal._

_The world is so high, hey…_

Steve, usually lulled by Bucky’s soft singing, gritted his teeth and snapped for him to quiet. Miles of that, and Steve’s nerves were worn raw. It wasn’t that he was worried about anyone overhearing Bucky singing in Romany out here on the open road, within the privacy of the car. It was just that Bucky was trying to prove some sort of point, as if it had been too _easy_ for Steve to shut that part of him away.

“Relax, will you.” Bucky huffed from where he sat in the passenger’s seat beside Steve as they drove up the narrow mountain road. Worry had gripped Steve hard since he’d been summoned for a meeting with General Striker. Steve had hoped that Dr. Erskine’s testimony regarding the children’s many illnesses would be enough to keep Striker at bay, but he knew the man was under pressure from Schmidt now that they suspected that Stefen had stolen the letter; but he’d not expected them to move so quickly.

Striker had once more brought up the unfortunate circumstances regarding the children’s health and made thinly veiled threats, only this time not so thin.

 _“There are questions regarding Dr. Erskine’s loyalty to the Reich, I’m sure this comes as a great shock to you Captain.”_ Striker had said with a sneer in his tone. _“Are you not worried that he may have exaggerated the extent of the children’s limitations, or might not in fact be the cause of them? A second opinion perhaps is warranted.”_

There was no way that Steve would allow any doctor selected by Striker or anyone else in the Nazi party anywhere within five feet of his children but he’d known then that Striker wasn’t going to give him a choice; he’d force the issue unless Steve gave him something.

Informing the head of the German Youth that his daughter was showing significant improvement, enough to allow her involvement in the BDM, had been sound strategy. Natacha was sharp and intelligent, smarter in some ways than even Péter, and Steve trusted her to know what to say and how she must behave to keep their family safe… but she was a child still, and he her father. Moving her about like a pawn in this deadly game left his gut twisting sickly. He couldn’t relax. What sort of a father was he, to do this to his child?

Steve’s hands clenched on the steering wheel in a white knuckled grip, his eyes stuck on the road and the familiar scenery. They were close now. So close to home. Steve just wanted to see the children, his eyes suddenly hungry for them, the impulse to gather them close and run away from this madness stronger than he’d ever felt it. But it was a dangerous whim. They were being watched. Schmidt would not simply just let him leave the country.

“Look if you can’t relax Stevie, try and take a breath.” Bucky sighed once more. “You’re white as a sheet. You’ll terrify the children. Dottie isn’t going to show up with a tank before we can get there.”

Steve snorted, though his amusement was minimal. He wouldn’t have put it past a woman like Dottie to try. Dörthe Werner and Peggy had been close once, meeting as young women at a Swiss finishing school and bonding over a shared sense of adventure, but Dottie came from an old family with strong political motivations and she’d always had a far colder approach to the world than Margrit. Steve had never known Dottie to be anything but cold and snobbish, especially towards him, but Peggy held such fond memories of the other woman that he’d always endeavored to hold his dislike in check. But Dottie’s vocal disdain for Peggy’s choice of partners had continually come between them and then her heavy involvement in the National Socialist party had driven the final wedge.

“We need to be there Buck,” Steve grunted, pushing the vehicle a tad faster. “Striker didn’t choose Dottie by chance.”

“Think I couldn’t figure that out? The woman’s sharp as a tack and you’ve got her squaring off with Ginger. Christ. She’s just a kid, Stevie.” Bucky breathed out heavily and Steve pressed his foot down on the gas without another word. He couldn’t help but feel slightly vindictive. Now did Bucky understand? It wasn’t as if it made Steve _happy_ to bury his heritage and Peggy had certainly never asked it of him. Assimilating had been his choice, being _Austrian_ , had been his choice (he’d had such strong belief in what the country could become, what they could build together) and no matter how bitter it was to watch that dream die, it was only thanks to that decision that Schmidt hadn’t torn his family apart already.

The sight of the trees parting to reveal the lush grounds of the villa sat on the edge of a glittering mountain lake had taken Steve’s breath away the first time he’d driven up this road with Peggy, and despite everything else going on it was no different that afternoon. Bucky too seemed to sit up straighter at the sight of it, a small smile tugging at his mouth at the sight. This beautiful home tucked away from the city had become sanctuary. Steve realized quite suddenly, watching the unhidden gleam of anticipation growing in his friend’s eyes, that in his grief he might have pushed Bucky out of it. Bucky had a family of his own but they’d always been home for each other. He’d let that change.

“Welcome home Steve.” Bucky echoed his thoughts and Steve’s chest ached with relief. Perhaps it hadn’t changed as much as he feared. He knew he was lucky, because he had Bucky to thank for that. His throat was tight with emotion as he gruffly echoed.

“Welcome home Buck.”

 

*~*

 

Steve pulled the car around to the garage when they pulled in, because there was no reason for leaving it in the front besides making more work for Harold, and even though Bucky teased him for going through the trouble of employing a chauffeur and going out of his way to lessen his workload, it was a habit that Steve had never been able to break. Bucky had never had a problem enjoying luxury once it had started coming their way, but Steve had never gotten comfortable being waited on.

Harold came out of the garage at the sound of the car pulling up, shock bleeding into happy surprise as he recognized them.

“Harold! It’s good to see you,” Bucky exclaimed hopping from the car to envelop Hogan into an enthusiastic embrace, a shark toothed grin splitting his face wide at the driver’s startled expression. Bucky never had held with propriety. Steve watched them with an exasperated smile.

“You’ve gained weight Hogan. Look at you all happy and round, marriage suits you. I ought to try it.” Bucky sassed and Harold rolled his eyes.

“No woman would put up with you Bakhuizen.” Turning to Steve with a short nod of respect Harold went on to say, “We weren’t expecting you Captain. Ginny didn’t say you’d telephoned.”

“Yes, sorry…” Steve cleared his throat. “Buck and I got on the road this morning. The phone line was down at the hotel.”

It hadn’t been. Steve just hadn’t wanted Schmidt to be aware of his movements or try and prevent him leaving Vienna.

“How are the children?” He asked, unable to hold the question in a moment longer, eyes darting about as if he expected to find them nearby. A foolish thought. At this hour they’d still be at lesson.

“They’re fine Sir… but supper will be late now. Ginny will be miffed about that.” Harold shook his head jovially and Steve was distracted from the man’s troubling hesitance by the prospect of facing his housekeeper’s wrath. Virginia could be very diligent about keeping the houses schedule.

“Well I’m famished. I for one would eat a steamed boot if Willamina would boil it- hey you’ve left my bags.” Bucky prattled, switching tracks mid-sentence when he noticed Harold had pulled their trunks from the car and picked up Stefen’s but left his.

“I’ve only got the two hands and I know you’ll just make the captain carry them.” Harold shot back and Steve laughed when Bucky slowly nodded as if seeing the wisdom in his words.

“Too true. Stefen. You’re standing there looking fairly useless.”

“I have a staff to carry my things.” Steve reminded him, trying not to be so damn amused by his antics and failing (he’d missed them too much).

“Yes and years of pent up guilt over that very fact. I do this for your health and mine.”

Steve let out something between a laugh and a huff (which Bucky did not look fooled by in the least) and grabbed up his bags. He couldn’t help however getting in a jibe of his own.

“You _have_ grown soft since the war. The stairs would probably do you in.”

“I’ll do _you_ in Stevie if I don’t get some supper in me.” Bucky grumbled in reply as Harold led the way inside. “Where are the kids? We should have heard the herd coming by now.”

Steve was wondering the same.

“They should be in the school room,” he replied reaching for the whistle tucked into his breast pocket in order to call for them. Normally he wouldn’t interrupt their lessons but he couldn’t bring himself to wait.

“Captain?” The sound of Virginia’s voice calling out at the end of the hall and the clack of her heels stilled his hand. The woman rushed toward them, an expression of surprise mingling with something that struck Steve as troubled, and he tensed. She was quick to embrace Bucky when she’d reached them, not standing on formality and Steve wasn’t sure who was more pleased by that (him or Bucky). “James, it’s been too long.”

“Clearly. I heard you didn’t wait for me and got yourself hitched.”

Harold snorted as he set Steve’s trunks down, and Steve rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

“A woman could find herself married, grandmothered, and in the grave waiting on you James,” Virginia replied drolly and Steve bit back a chuckle.

“Awe that’s really not fair though is it darling?” Bucky pouted, a familiar gleam of mischief in his eye. Steve should know, he’d watched him use it on women enough. Virginia had long ago proven to be one of the rare immune but that just seemed to encourage him. “There you stand looking gorgeous and so very not a grandmother, and here I’ve come back for you. Whose gonna soothe my broken heart?”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Virginia smiled so sweetly at him it was just shy of insulting and Bucky grinned wildly at Steve as Virginia turned towards him with a business like air.

“When you wrote you were coming home I did not expect you to wrap up things in Vienna so quickly. I’m afraid it will take Willimina some time to get a proper meal on the table.” The contrast between it and the open friendliness she’d displayed only moments before was startling, but not alarming considering that Steve could hear even now what he recognized as Hammer’s hurried footfall.

Virginia stepped close to murmur quickly, “Frauline Werner rang to make the arrangements. I held her off until Wednesday.”

Steve felt a small bit of relief at that. There was time still to prepare, to speak with Natacha before she was thrown to the wolves… though any relief that Steve felt was quickly swallowed by guilt because he did not know what he would say to his daughter to explain what he needed from her. Too much information would put her in danger, but his silence left her to draw her own conclusions. How confused she must be.

Steve nodded, giving the woman’s arm a grateful squeeze and she stepped back just as Herr Hammer reached them. The butler looked a mix of flustered and indignant.

“Captain. I do apologize I was not here to meet you. No one informed me you had arrived.” Justin shot Virginia an accusing glance and the housekeeper just stared back at him, as impenetrable as fortress.

“Never mind that now, Hammer. I’m home now and glad for it. Where are the children?” Steve asked once more. He narrowed his eyes shrewdly at the sudden darkening of Hammer’s expression and the quick glance that Harold and Virginia shared. It was quick enough that a less careful man would have missed it but Steve did not, nor had he missed that this was his third time asking with no answer forthcoming.

“Virginia?” He snapped, worry tightening his gut once more, his hand itching to reach for the pistol tucked into his jacket.

“They are having a lesson with Herr Stark.” Virginia confirmed slowly and before Steve could dwell too much on his confusion Justin opened his mouth and launched into a long winded tirade.

“Captain, while the house is delighted to have you back, I simply must bring it to your attention that Herr Stark’s behavior while you’ve been away has been unacceptable – ”

“What do you mean?!” Steve snapped once more. “What has he done?” Had he hurt one of the children? Steve found it harder to believe than he’d have imagined weeks ago. Stark’s letters kept playing through his head, his obvious fondness for each child leaking through every word.

“I believe the behavior that Herr Hammer is referring to is Antony’s insistence on taking the children on an excursion-” Steve’s neck turned so quickly to stare at Virginia it hurt. _Antony_ since when was Stark, Antony, to her? He was so taken aback by the woman’s slip he almost missed her last words. When they sank in a feeling like rage lit within his belly and he did nothing to mask it. To her credit Virginia did not flinch from his obvious fury. “- But he did ask for my permission Captain and I gave it.”

“An arrangement I assure you Captain that I was unaware of.” Justin was quick to say. “I warned Herr Stark to mind his place and your rules but he has no regard for authority. He’s caused nothing but chaos, unsavory visitors-”

“A novice from the church stopping in for kaffeetrinken.” Virginia interjected and Hammer swelled up like an agitated bird.

“-completely ignoring your chosen curriculum, singing and dancing like the house is a circus, excursions into town! The children came back in such a state I’m sure something must have happened but they won’t say. The children are terrified of him Captain.”

“Terrified!” They had Bucky’s full attention now. There was almost something savage in the way he snapped, “What the hell do you mean?!”

“The children love him, Herr Hammer.” It was only Virginia’s furious snap in Hammer’s direction that kept Steve’s anger from boiling over. “They really are quite fond of him Captain. They were simply not used to such strenuous activity. The heat exhausted them.”

“And _what_ pray tell, gave Herr Stark the impression that he could take my children out of this house?” Steve asked, voice so dangerously controlled that even Justin knew better than to say another word. Virginia to her credit met his gaze without flinching, though Steve would not have wished to face himself at that moment had he been in her shoes.

“Because I gave him permission to Captain.” She held his stare though the tight grip of one hand on her wrist betrayed her nervousness.

“I’ll deal with that latter. Where are my children?”

This time there was no evasion, Virginia was far smarter than that.

“They’re in the music room Captain.”

Steve saw red.

“Right.” Though his voice betrayed none of his rage, when Captain Stefen Gavril Rogers turned on his heel and began marching down the hall there was no mistaking he was a man on the war path.

~*~

“Stefen!”

Steve heard Bucky calling after him but Steve didn’t pause in his march toward the music room, too focused on his target: that target being one disobedient, impertinent, fool of a monk who’d wish he’d never heard the name of Captain Rogers by the time Steve was through with him if he learned that he’d harmed so much as a hair on one of the children. And Steve would get the truth from him if he had to wring it out of his neck to do it.

The music room. Steve was livid about the little trip Tony had taken the children on but for some reason it was hearing that Tony had disobeyed this particular order that rubbed the rawest.

He’d been clear! The room wasn’t to be touched! Everyone on the staff knew, so how was it that this one man had turned the entire house on its head in the space of a month! Had Virginia just let the man run amok? It wasn’t like her but damn it all if there just wasn’t something about Stark that got under the skin. Even Steve had begun to soften towards him of late. Well no more. It would end here. Antony Stark was going to learn his place if it was the last thing Steve did. If he could bring an entire company of unruly soldiers into line he could certainly cow a monk!

“Stefen, will you wait a minute! You’re gonna frighten the kids half to death-”

Steve drew to stop just outside the open doors of the music room but not because of Bucky’s warning.

It was the sight of those doors wide open, the curtains pulled back so that bright afternoon sunshine spilled over every surface. It was like stepping back in time to three years ago when Steve would have come home and expected to find Peggy here, perhaps with James in her lap tinkling away at the piano while Natacha danced circles around Péter. Ian would be curled up in a chair, sounding through one of his books…

The sound pouring out of those doors was not that of his lovely wife, singing softly to amuse their children but it was no less stunning for that. He didn’t know why it struck him so dumb to learn that Stark could sing, he was a monk after all, but the rich sound of his voice stopped Steve in his tracks, his ears craning for every last word, his heart pounding wildly within his chest caught between the flush of fury that had carried him there and the strange yearning now holding him still.

_Ade! Ade! Ade! Ja scheiden und meiden tut weh_

The words to the old love song drifted up from his memory as If Peggy were right there beside Tony at the piano, their voices blending together in his head, singing the song of parting lovers.

_Farewell, farwell, farwell, separation is like privation_

And then, as if Steve weren’t knocked back enough a chorus of voices answered Tony, and if he weren’t staring at them lined up in front of the piano Steve would not have believed that _his_ children could make such a beautiful sound... but of course they could. They were Peggy’s.

_When do you think I'll get my darling back?_

_Farewell!_

_And if it isn't tomorrow, oh if only it could be today,_

_Farewell, farewell, farewell!_

_Oh separation and privation, how they hurt_

Steve sucked in a desperate breath but something was grabbing his chest, squeezing the air from him. His eyes were stinging as Bucky who had stopped beside him to watch as Tony directed the children in song gaped. Slowly his expression bled into a delighted smile, something fiercely proud in his voice as he murmured, “wow. Listen to _that_ Stevie.”

The sound of Bucky’s voice drew Natacha’s attention (the girl had the ears of a wolf Steve would swear) and at the sight of them she gasped. One by one the children turned to look where she was looking and within moments the room erupted into chaos.

“Father! Uncle Bucky!” a near dozen young voices called out in various orders and the whole lot of them abandoned their lesson to come greet them.

They crowded around him and Bucky chattering a mile a minute with unhindered enthusiasm and Artur almost knocked them both over colliding into their legs, wrapping one arm around Steve’s right and Bucky’s left and squeezing tight as he wriggled and bounced with excitement.

“…you didn’t tell us you were coming back…”

“…Tony helped me tie it! Do you like….”

“…my letter! You didn’t answer…”

They were all talking over each other and Steve’s head was pounding with the clamor. His hands shook as he placed them on Ian’s shoulders and he still somehow hadn’t managed to catch his breath. He looked over to Bucky who caught his eye and must have seen the pleading in them because he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply for quiet.

“That’s better.” He groused following the sudden silence and the children giggled. “How’s a guy supposed to demand his hugs if he can’t even hear himself think?”

“I’m already hugging you!” Artur chirped abandoning Steve’s leg to clasp both arms tightly around Bucky. He squealed with delight when the man stooped and pulled him up as if he were still as small as Maria.

“Who is this?” Bucky gaped. “Stevie? My god you shrunk!”

“No it’s me, Artur!” the boy laughed at Bucky’s teasing and began to wriggle desperately in Bucky’s arms as Bucky began to mercilessly tickle his side, the boy dangerously tipping back and forth.

“Well here’s what you get for getting more and more like him every day. Didn’t I tell you to stop that?”

“Never!” Artur resisted with gleeful kicks and squirms and thankfully Bucky set him down before he dropped him and the other children crowded close eager for their turn at hugs and attention from their favorite uncle; all except for Natacha who Steve noticed hanging back from the others waiting patiently to be addressed, though he thought her eyes betrayed her eagerness.

Steve took that moment to step away and catch Stark’s attention, only to find that the monk was already watching him, waiting by the door as if he’d expected it. Steve narrowed his eyes, remembering his anger and his mission there. Right. Time to deal with Stark, once and for all.

~*~*~

Tony’s heart hadn’t beat so hard even when he’d stood up in front of the children to speak treason. There was no stopping it now it seemed as he and Captain Rogers slipped from the room and quietly shut the door behind them.

Rogers was wearing a familiarly murderous expression and it was a struggle for Tony not to let anything of the satisfaction he felt show.

“Herr Stark, was I unclear when I told you the music room was off limits?”

“Perfectly, Captain.”

“And was I not clear on my restrictions regarding the children’s activities?”

“As fine crystal, Sir.”

“Then you are just incapable of following orders?” the captain snipped, clipping his words and Tony smiled serenely at him.

“It does look that way, doesn’t it?” And when the captain opened his mouth to speak once more Tony tilted his head and beat him to the punch. “I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a follower, so when I find fault in your orders, and I usually do, I am forced to follow my own judgement.”

“Is this a game to you?” Rogers got in his face to snarl. “I do not give a _damn_ Stark about your judgment, you’re not paid to judge you’re paid to –”

“To educate.” Tony interjected succinctly.

“Yes!” the captain loomed over him, crowding further into Tony’s space, but if he expected Tony to cower from the sheer size of him or the darkness of his expression alone, well then he didn’t know Tony Stark. “Following the orders I give you!”

“I’m not a soldier _Captain_! I do not march after orders just because you shout them. Your butler made it impossible for me to go into town and get the children’s supplies without leaving them alone for the day, and unlike some I do not take breaking my promises to them lightly.”

“Be very careful, Stark!” Steve growled at him, teeth clenched so tight they were all but bared and Tony shivered, but refused to back down.

“Frankly it’s unhealthy keeping them locked up here as if you feared they might catch the plague just by walking into town-”

“What business is it of yours! I have good reason for keeping them home and you – ”

“Can’t possibly be expected to care if you don’t share them, Captain! Or to apologize when I discussed the matter with Pepper, whom you put in charge by the way, and Péter agreed it was a splendid idea –”

“Who the hell is Pepper? And Péter is fourteen! Don’t bring my child into this – ”

“Péter will be a man before you can blink and you’ll have lost the opportunity to know him! The children are the god damn _point_! You asked me to protect them but nothing is going to protect them from the damage these walls will cause if you keep them locked up. They are _children_ Captain, not soldiers. They shouldn’t be made to walk in fear!”

“They have every reason to be afraid!” Rogers shouted and Tony fell silent, taken back by the anguish twisting his features, the stark pain flashing in the blue of his eyes and Tony drew in a breath of sudden realization.

Firstly, Rogers might have become very practiced with his German and his high handed ways, but when his blood was hot like this and he let his control slip he slipped into a rough distinctly Slavic cadence that screamed of countryside and ill breeding (and it was just as gorgeous as the first time Tony had heard it).

Secondly, and far more relevantly, Stefen Rogers (national hero, the skinny boy who’d lied about his age to join a war, survived to single handedly rescue his entire company and push back the enemy forces) was deeply and profoundly terrified for his children. It was suddenly easy to see right through him, right to the fleshy heart undoubtedly beating rabbit like within his chest, and easy to see how one could so effortlessly rip it out.

You wouldn’t even need to touch him. He already had seven handy little targets.

And for a moment Tony wondered if Hughard had ever loved him that much… the things Hughard might have been driven to do to protect him if he’d learned there was a threat to them (something drastic like signing Tony’s life over to a monastery) but he pushed the thought away as grappling for straws. He’d never know Hughard’s true motivations. He’d not been given enough data.

It was with that thought in mind that Tony slowly reached for the captain, whose eyes were still shuttered and pained, but who for whatever reason did not flinch away from his touch as Tony rested his hand gently upon his arm.

“When I was not much older than Péter, my parents were murdered...” he began and Stefen’s eyes rounded in shock. The official story had said that Hughard and Maria had accidently been trampled to death during the riot because it was prettier than being executed by their own workers.

“I was alone and the world was at war. The bombs would shake the abbey walls whenever there was a raid. And I used to just lay there, wishing they’d just land on us… because then I might see my mother again…” Tony swallowed thickly and looked away from the penetrating blue of the captain’s eyes. It was too hard to get through with such intense focus fixed upon him.

“Soldiers would come through seeking food and medical aid. They’d ask for prayers and tell us stories of the war effort, but I hardly heard any of them. I was too numb. But then one day there was a new story, about this boy. They were calling him ‘the lion of Austria’. He was even younger than I was, but they said he stood up to an entire regiment of enemy troops and prevented the enemy from advancing on an undefended village.”

Tony could see the slow dawning of awe as Rogers realized that Tony was talking about him followed by a sort of wonder filled bewilderment as if he couldn’t comprehend himself as a hero to anyone, especially a young boy grappling with the harsh realities of war and the terrible loss of his parents.

“I immediately asked brother Bruce for his sobering draught because I thought, my god, if a boy with arms the size of toothpicks and shriveled lungs could do that… then I could sober up and face another day. It offends me now to see how they greatly exaggerated your skinniness. I have yet to determine about the shriveled lungs.”

A rough chuckle rumbled from the captain’s chest and he looked just as surprised by it as Tony was. It made something warm glow within Tony’s chest in response, his lips tilting upward in shared mirth as he returned an encouraging smile. While luck was on his side and the captain seemed captivated by his story Tony implored him once more.

“They have every reason to fear, Stefen, you are right, and only you to show them the meaning of strength. Don’t let fear become their master.”

 _Or yours._ Tony did not say the words but they were heavy between them as Stefen considered him and Tony searched him for some hint as to how the chips would fall. He was very likely to find himself fired.

The captain took a slow deep breath – the movement of his broad chest catching Tony’s eyes and making his hand burn enough to drop it.

“You are right about one thing Herr Stark; I am their father. In the future all _excursions_ are to be cleared with me or you will not like the consequences.”

As Captain Rogers brushed past him to head back into the music room Tony stared after him, something wild beginning to flutter within his chest. It felt like hope; because Tony had always been smarter than most and his mind put together quickly the things not said. Stefen had not expressly forbidden him to take the children out again.

“The singing, Captain, and their other lessons?” Tony pressed the captain’s retreating back. He paused and glanced back at Tony with a warning stare, but Tony could have sworn there was something almost warm glinting in that blue. Maybe he was just imagining things but the sweet rush of victory filled him when Stefen nodded shortly.

“So long as they don’t interfere with their regular school work; and they are never to sing in public. Good day, Herr Stark. You’re relieved.”

And with that Stefen pushed open the doors to the music room and let it shut smartly behind him leaving Tony alone in the hall. And though Tony had expected punishment and not received it, strangely that door between him and the family he was becoming dangerously invested in felt like a punishment all its own.

 

~*~*~~*~*~

 

Tony made his way up the stairs that night ready to attempt sleep again. His mind was oddly quiet. Well it wasn't firing at all cylinders, and with the way the past few days had gone he would take what he could get.

He cradled his drink to his chest; the balmy coolness of the glass had long since faded. He’d regulated himself to just the one glass (no sense in Pepper figuring out who stole the schnapps).

Tony’s room was on the same floor as the room that Pepper used when she chose to stay the night. They shared the floor with the family. An odd choice, but Tony couldn’t complain. It did make spying ever so much easier.

He rounded the corner to his room. The house was new and the way it talked always soothed him. His father had always said you could tell a great deal about a house and its builder by the way it talked. Its creaks and moans and shudders.

It’s cries…. Tony’s step paused as a low sound registered in the dark. He hesitated, his first thought being that Péter was finally showing the signs of someone with a heart condition but no, he'd passed Péter's room already.

He inched forward, eyes drawn to the door to his right where the low sounds of distress were emanating. Stefen’s room.

 It wasn't crying… perhaps choking? And it was definitely coming from Stefen’s- the CAPTAINS, DAMN IT- room. He was familiar with the sound of the mind trying to wake itself.

 A part of him had not quite believed Péter. Captain Rogers was as unbreakable, unstoppable and as morally upright as the pamphlets had ever said. And a small very young part of tony wanted desperately to believe it was all true.

 But he was a scientific mind and fantasy did not become him.

There was something wrong with the captain. It was as if the man he had written too in the past months had sent a pod person home instead. There had been little glimmers of the Stefen Rogers Tony thought he'd been getting to know, but the Captain had been mostly withdrawn all day and into the evening.

Tony paused in front of the door, reaching for the knob on instinct.

He was holding his breath. Damn it. It wasn't his job to look after Rogers!

Péter said his father preferred to be alone. That was if the captain was even having a nightmare! For all Tony knew he was having strange sex with one of the maids.

He almost laughed. It was always the quiet ones.

He was turning to go when a thump came from behind the door and then another cry, this one sharper.

Tony had opened the door before he could stop himself.

Captain Rogers frightened eyes met his. He was tangled in his sheets, his face contorted though it was hard to tell for sure in the dark. The bedside lamp had been knocked over and was shining it's light sideways so that everything was contorted or cast in shadow.

The captain was struggling to sit up his eyes darting about the room. Even in the distorted light Tony could see the front of his night shirt was drenched in sweat. He's movements were slow, sluggish again as if he were drunk only there was no smell of alcohol, no telltale glass like the one in Tony’s hand beside the bed.

That strangled little choking sound still coming from him- Tony had seen animals led to slaughter less frightened.

He took a step nearer which only sent the captain into more of a panic. A shout tore from him as he twisted his body to the side knocking the remaining items on the night table over.

What was Tony supposed to do? What did he do with his hands? Tony panicked.

What would Bruce do with a troubled patient?

Restrain them?

“Captain?” Tony inched forward “Captain Rogers?”

In the bed the captain stilled, his head bent between his arms as he held himself up on his stomach, his arms as rigid as poles, the muscles cording.

Tony swallowed, frozen in place. He should leave. This was a very private thing…

But that sound - Stefen was choking - that sound was him choking, and much like the way he came in Tony was darting forward at the realization without any command from his body.

Tony ripped the sheets away so that they no longer trapped Stefen’s lower body. He’d turned to grasp Stefen’s shoulders when he was suddenly struck.

Tony fell on his backside, too stunned to do much else but blink back up at the captain. Though he must have shouted because a moment later Herr Bakhuizen had appeared in the door.

Tony snapped out of his days and reached for the captain again. He managed to get an armful of frightened soldier before he was thrown back with surprising ease. He snatched at him again pulling at Stefen’s swinging arms, trying to restrain him the way he’d seen Bruce do on so many occasions. It was like trying to ride a bucking horse. There was another loud crack in his ears and then a bright burst of pain and Tony went down dragging Stefen with him.

Under his crushing weight Tony could feel the man trembling against him as if he was shaking apart.

Hands grabbed at him. Too many hands. One pair, around his neck and pushing at his face - dear god, his neck was going to snap from the force of it - another pair grasping for purchase. The second pair grappled and pulled, dragging Tony roughly out from under Stefen. The minute he was free he was dropped unceremoniously and his rescuer lunged forward, grasping Stefen by the shoulders. In the fractured darkness Tony could make out Herr Bakhuizen form bracing against Stefen’s.

Bakhuizen was murmuring something, face pressed close to Stefen’s which was still turned toward Tony. A string of low urgent words left Bakhuizen’s lips: neither in German or Polish. Tony strained to understand it but he couldn't. Whatever language it was it wasn't one he was familiar with.

Bakhuizen was stroking the side of Stefen’s face, a gentle motion in comparison to the white knuckled grip he had on his arm.

Tony sat up, the movement making his neck twinge.

Over Bakhuizen’s shoulder Stefan's eyes had turned glassy but the recognition in them was clear as they focused on Tony. If it were possible Stefen stiffened more.

Bakhuizen glanced behind him eyes meeting Tony’s.

“It's alright, everything's alright.”

Like hell it was.

Tony wiped his mouth, a smear of blood coming away on the back of his palm.

“He’s got the shakes.” Tony said stupidly. Bakhuizen must know, but what else was there to say.

“He’s fine!” Bakhuizen snarled and Tony winced.

Captain Rogers muttered something in that unfamiliar language again but whatever he said it was obvious he wanted Tony to know, the captain’s eyes boring into his.

He could try fucking German.

Bakhuizen shook him once more and the captain started. His eyes back on Bakhuizen’s he looked lost and Tony was sure, even in the low light, that he'd never seen the captain look so young.

“S-stark.” The captain's voice sounded like rusted chain. He licked his lips and continued, struggling with his words.

“That'll be all Stark.”

Tony blinked, taken aback by the order as Bakhuizen heaved, lifting Stefen up and shouldering him towards his bed.

“Stark, water if y'a don't mind.” Bakhuizen directed firmly with military precision.

The captain landed with a thump on the bed his voice cracking out of him as he continued to issue orders.

“That'll be all Stark.”

It might have been more impressive if Tony hadn’t witnessed the man nearly topple over.

Tony was already up, scooping his spilled glass off the floor with shaking hands.

“Water it is, Cap.”

Even in his state Stefen managed a frown at him, the nickname registering. Tony saluted a farewell, trying for jovial, and hurried from the room on shaking legs.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Steve had always been a light sleeper (first from illness in the caravan and then drilled into him in the army) Bucky not so much. He slept like a log these days. When he did sleep.

He rolled onto his front. Steve had already left to bathe and wash the sweat from his body. The moment he had left the bed Bucky, who’d been in the chair next to him (like a father at the sickbed of a child) had flopped into the bed. There was no going back to sleep for Steve but he hadn't complained when Bucky had pulled up a chair and proclaimed his inability to sleep and want of a good book.

A good book had been Peggy’s copy of “The Ego and the Id’. He hoped It had soothed Stevie. His wife had had very strange tastes. Bucky had struggled through the heavy German text, hardly understanding half of what he was saying. Steve had even called him on it, asking him to repeat what he’d said at more than one point, his voice scraping out of him. He'd asked why Bucky bothered to read it if he neither liked Freud nor understood him. Bucky had scowled back and told him to shut up. Steve, contrary bastard that he was, never did fall back to sleep. Instead he seemed to drift in and out, back pressed to the headboard, breathing stuttering every now and then. It gave Bucky time to observe his friend.

His brother.

Who was falling apart at the seams.

He could see that now. Steve had lost weight and even though it was clear he’d been out in the sun his skin, which had always favored his gaja fathers, was an unhealthy shade of pale. In Vienna Bucky had thought when the bruising faded his skin would return to normal. Instead Steve looked...ill. Just ill. Almost the way he’d looked as a little boy.

Bucky had found Steve after the great war was over. When Bucky had been released from their unit, he’d been determined to find Steve in one of the stationed hospitals. They’d met up and banded together just like always. Only this time there where pieces of themselves missing. They’d been like a china piece, shaken and glued back together until nothing was where it was supposed to be anymore. Together, however, it had not seemed so terrible. Together they had managed to be a whole person.

Time served, Bucky had snatched up his promised citizenship and left the mountain troopers without a backward glance. He’d been a good soldier, but so had his friends. The price for that piece of paper had been too damn high.

In ways he would only admit to Steve he thought they were all still paying for it. What was left of their company were all what Peggy had called ‘shell shocked’, unable to come back from the mountains and rejoin society like proper men.

His mother had had another name for it- for the men in the caravan that had fought and come back only half there. She’d called it an irritable heart.

Bucky sighed, listening to Steve move about in the washroom. No doubt scrubbing away all evidence of his slip the night before.

Bitterly he wondered if today his pulo would manage to scrub away the evidence of his Roma blood and his irritable heart. Surely there wasn't enough lye soap in the world.

Bucky snorted. It was harder now, a game he made himself play, looking for cracks in Steve’s perfect German persona to spot any remnants of the skinny Roma boy who had once lifted his grandfather’s coveted pencils in order to draw on the backs of logs.

He'd let Bucky back into the house he reasoned. By default, his resilience must be waning.

The washroom door opened and Steve stepped through, already in his morning clothes, his hair neatly combed and parted. You'd have no idea he had been somewhere outside of his mind the night before, not a hair was out of place to suggest he'd unraveled.

God damn it but that was scary.

Bucky rubbed his face, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in his gut.

“Jesus Stevie” he muttered under his breath.

Steve meandered over to his dresser, adjusting his suspenders and leaning over too look in the mirror. The room had been put back, every last surface immaculate, scrubbed clean of the night before.

“You alright, Stevie?” Bucky asked, louder.

Steve shot him a puzzled look and straightened.

“I don’t want the children to see me hurt.” He frowned at himself and reached for a jar resting beside the mirror. The bruises on his neck and jaw had faded to a translucent yellow but Steve had always been meticulous.

“Why did you sleep here?” the question was directed to just over Bucky's shoulder and before he could answer Steve was already pulling away and reaching for his tie, fashioning the knot around his neck with brutal precision. “I'm surprised the smell of breakfast didn't wake you.” he added, offering a rueful little smile at Bucky.

It was a fair question. He’d not been in Steve's room in years. It had been Steve and Peggy’s room then, and if Bucky had gone in it was mostly to tease Peggy from the doorway as she sat by her mirror.

Then it had been filled with the ordinary things. Pictures of the children, bobbles Peggy had picked up over the years, Steve's sketches. Possessions that spoke of two people in love in one space.

There was nothing to suggest Peggy had been there now. It was a Roma custom to let go of the dead, so the dead could find peace. A damn idiotic one if you asked him and certainly not meant to be done in this degree. Hell, Bucky still had a few of his mother’s things.

Looking around now, the only thing of personal value Bucky had clapped eyes on was the line of photos of the children. All of them formal, their mother nowhere in sight.

More worrying, there was nothing to suggest that Steve lived there either… as if he had counted himself among the dead.

“Hurry up, Buck.” Stefen called from the door. “You don’t want Herr Stark to have all the coffee.”

 

~*~~*~

 

“Children! Good morn and good traveling to you all.” Bucky greeted the table as he entered the dining room. The children echoed a chorus of hellos between bites of their- was that müesli? Praise the gods! Müesli, sausage and ham, three plates of fruit and of course coffee specifically made. He might marry Williamina, never mind the fact she was fifteen years his senior.

Bucky frowned, noticing that Herr stark had indeed commandeered the coffee.

The mad little monk sat at the end of the table with a dazed look as he clutched the coffee pitcher giving off the impression of a mother hawk clutching her eggs.

Bucky planted himself between Natacha and Péter, grunting a hello as he began to scoop bits of food onto his plate.

“Where's your father?” Bucky asked the boy and Péter shook his head, his lips tight.

“He hasn't come down yet.”

Bucky sighed. Just like Steve to get lost on the way.

“Thats your Da. More for us.”

Tacha gave him a smile but it was hesitant. Péter had gone back to his bowl, almost hunched over it as he ate.

Bucky slipped a piece ham into his muesli, swiveling the meat in the porridge wondering what was wrong with everyone? The mood at the table was as if someone had died, far too somber just for being disappointed that their father was late.

“Hello Bakhuizen, how was your night?”

At the greeting Bucky slowly glanced up at the children's tutor. He’d been purposefully avoiding meeting Stark’s gaze. He'd prefer to leave that problem for later in the day but one real look at Stark was enough to know that had been a mistake.

The monk regarded him coolly, his smile pinched around the eyes.

The dark stain on his pale skin was unmistakable and coupled with the vivid fingerprint bruises dotting his neck he looked like someone had attempted to murder him (and succeed).

Bucky jerked his gaze away, trying not to stare, his stomach dropping somewhere near his feet.

Steve had done a number on Stark in a very short amount of time. Bucky swallowed, pushing down the feeling of constriction rising in his lungs and the voice in his head berating him.

Should have been faster.

“Delightful.” Bucky responded cautiously. “And you?”

“Fine, thank you.” Stark answered. “Ian here had a question about last night.”

Bucky tensed. The mistrust he’d felt for Stark back in Vienna intensified as he regarded the man with a carefully blank expression and Stark just stared back at him.

“What?” he snapped.

If Stark meant to attempt some sort of blackmail, he had another thing coming if he thought Bucky was going to play that game. He'd feared this might happen. Seen it happen to some of the other guys. Any display of weakness and the wolves come salivating to the door.

Sure, the name of Stark had clout and Stevie was impressed by that, but Antony Stark wasn’t Hughard. Who the fuck was Antony Stark anyway? They had no idea who the man really was or where his loyalties lay.

For that matter, what had he been doing in Steve's room last night in the first place?

Bucky had not heard Steve crying out until he'd been about to strangle Stark to death. So how had Stark heard him before he did? It didn’t sit right.

Bucky stared hard at the man. He wasn’t Steve. He didn’t play nice or bother with pleasantries or war games. He hadn’t forgotten what they’d done in the mountains. They'd buried more than one Italian in the snow.

And as his eyes flickered to Ian sitting with wide eyes next to his tutor, his eyes round with an all too revealing level of distress, Bucky clenched his hand tightly upon his spoon, thinking that Stark was mistaken if he thought Bucky wouldn't bury another one.

“Ian would like to know why you and I shared a room with Captain Rogers.” Stark finished. ‘And came out looking like a Christmas Ham’ went unsaid, but the children were all looking at them, subdued and just this shade of fearful as they waited for someone to explain it away (make it better). Bucky gritted his teeth.

Well shit. All right. He'd have expected the nosiness from James or Tacha, but Ian came as a surprise. He was the quiet boy, the shy one. All the soft parts of Peggy and Steve. But then again, Bucky supposed that still left room for being a little snoop.

Now what the hell was he going to say to them?! Bucky felt something startlingly close to panic build within him until a voice shattered the silence.

“Good morning, children.”

Steve sat down, effectively commanding the attention of the table, seemingly oblivious to the tension as he poured himself a glass of water.

Bucky blinked at him, trying to calm the rushing in his ears. When had Steve come in? He needed to relax, he scolded himself. Breathe in. Breathe out. The last thing the kids needed was another adult losing it on them. Bucky eyed Steve warily as the children shifted uneasily in their chairs, hyper aware of Steve as he doggedly went through the motions of putting food on his plate. Bucky had to suppress a flicker of irritation as he watched. He'd bet his violin Steve wouldn't touch any of that food.

“Bucky.” Feeling their gazes Steve nodded a greeting to Bucky and then in the direction of the monk. “Stark.”

“Captain.” Stark replied neatly but his gaze was as razor sharp as a bird of prey.

“Buck, tonight I-” Steve looking up and fell quiet as he caught sight of Stark opposite him. His eyes roved over the man's face taking in the purple and black bruises cupping his jaw. Bucky could almost hear Steve’s mind sliding the facts into place.

Steve's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

You could choke on the silence. Bucky reached for the maple sauce and drizzled it over his müesli and ham. The little droplets sounded like gongs and he mentally cursed the two of them for making him feel like he was one of the children. One thing was for sure if Stark didn't play along and keep quiet, Bucky was going to-

But Bucky never finished the thought because at that moment James broke the silence, voice low but firm… insistent.

“You never said where you got your bruise Tony.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

James peered up at Tony. He'd nearly whispered the words and the quiet sound of them jarred something deep in Bucky’s. Virginia hadn’t been exaggerating. The children adored the mad little monk.

Stark kept his eyes on Steve but leaned a little to the side to answer James, his voice carrying softly across the table as he spoke and Bucky clenched his fist in his lap, ready to jump in should Stark forget himself.

“No, I didn't. Do you want to know why?”

James nodded, biting his lip anxiously.

“Because you didn't ask-”

“-Tony!”

“-nicely. It's a hard world James and sometimes you bump things that are harder. With your face.”

James made a face at Stark and Stark, finally breaking his silent war with Steve, made a face right back. And then he winced in pain, touching a hand to his swollen face.

Artur gasped and wriggled off his seat, rounding the few chairs to clutch at Starks arm.

“No, don't do that Tony. Father?”

Artur turned, his little face suddenly very serious.

“Tony’s hurt. We shouldn't have hard things for Tony to bump into.”

A startled laugh erupted from Bucky’s throat, nearly choking him on his food.

Steve didn’t even look at him. He nodded stiffly, eyes glued to Stark as if the man were a grenade about to go off.

“You should put Ice on that.” he murmured lowly.

“I know where to get ice!” Artur exclaimed, body already in motion.

“Sit down!” Steve bit out, anger turning his words sharp and the table froze.

Artur shrank suddenly unsure of himself, with a look back at Stark, he crept back into his chair as if he'd been kicked.

Next to him Péter stiffened, hands clenching tightly around his cutlery as he tracked his father’s movements carefully, as if he expected Steve to attack Artur and the sight felt like a stab to the chest.

They all watched as Steve took a breath. The hand that he had sat on the table was clenched in a white knuckled grip.

“Eat your breakfast first, Artur.” He finally said, quietly but with no less authority.

“Herr Stark...” He seemed unable to summon the right words, his lips pressed tight and eyes hard.

“Cap?” Stark tilted his  
head looking for all the world as relaxed as you please.

The man had guts, Bucky’d give him that.

“I... I ought to apologize.”

Bucky choked on another swallow and for the first time Stark looked somewhat stunned.

Don’t do it, Bucky pleaded silently, staring hard at Steve, but he already knew Steve wasn’t going to look at him.

“For what…?” Stark asked and Steve let out another little breath, like air pressure from a tire.

Bucky knew that expression. It was the same expression he’d worn before he'd approached Peggy the first time, the same one he’d worn as he’d stepped into the recruiting line.

It was that jackass stubborn look he got right before he did something stupid.

“Children,” Steve began, voice loud in the quiet room and Bucky leaned back in his chair, cursing under his breath. “I hurt your tutor. I did not mean too but...”

Stark’s eyes widened marginally but otherwise he kept quiet as a mouse. The whole table watched and waited for Steve to finish.

Steve gestured at Starks face. “As you can see he’s all right, but I ought to be the one that brings him ic-”

“But how?” Ian interrupted and Steve winced.

“It doesn't matter how. Just that it happened.” Bucky could see his resolve wavering under the horrified expressions of his children and the fear etched there. Steve took another breath and something in his eyes softened as they pinned Starks, almost pleading as he finished.

“And I'm sorry.”

Stark blinked at him and for the first time Bucky had seen seemed at a loss for words.

“You apologize-” the monk’s expression was the same blank canvas his voice drawling slowly. Steve immediately tensed.

“Yes, Stark-”

“-To me for last night?”

“For anything you…” Stefen motioned over Stark’s body with a pained grimace. “Might have experienced.”

Bucky was certain Steve barely remembered last night. He supposed that was worse in a way.

Steve could have been made of stone for how tightly he held himself. He did not like apologizing and tried to avoid doing things he felt would warrant one.

Stark tilted his head again and Bucky felt himself tense again. If he was going to push it there was going to be a problem. Bucky opened his mouth to put everyone out of their misery and end the conversation that never should have started, but the look on Steve’s face stopped him. He and Stark were staring at one another, and when Stark spoke next in quietly uttered Italian it couldn’t have been clearer that the rest of the table had disappeared for them.

_“Tu non c’è bisogno di chiedere scusa.”_

Steve was a still as marble taking in the words. Bucky watched him take in a small breath before he replied.

_“Ma devo.”_

They held each other's gazes for a long moment - until Bucky thought he might shout into the silence just to break the spell - and then Stark looked away, almost shy, his eyes skating over Maria and Tacha.

“Consider it forgotten, cap.” the monk said with the same smart salute he’d given Steve the night before.

Bucky couldn't tell if it was out of cockiness, general disrespect, or something else but he did not like it. At all.

There was something off about Stark. He was dangerous to Steve. Bucky was sure of it.

They’d never been raised to trust people easily, not when any Roma man could be killed or mistreated with next to no consequences. It didn't really lend a hand to believing in the best of people, but somehow Steve had always found that easy.

But things were different now. Steve was a captain in the German army and definitely a traitor by anyone's standards. His superiors suspected it but couldn’t prove it.

It was damn stupid to admit to anyone how unstable he was. A complaint from Stark to the authorities was all it would take and Stevie would have a one-way trip to the mad house. It had happened to other soldiers who couldn’t hack it after the war ended. Schmidt would probably stamp the damn papers himself.

He and Stevie were gonna have words later. Long words in plain German about showing your hand.

For Christ sake! Bucky stirred his food mulishly. He couldn't even enjoy a constipated Rogers apology anymore!

They sat in always silence after that, cutlery scraping off plates and Bucky wondered how often this was the symphony of the meals together. He watched his spoon sink into his muesli with every bite, feeling as if it were an accurate picture of the situation Bucky had to dig Steve out of.

He finished his food and was loading his bowl with more when Stark interjected into the silence once more.

“Captain, you ought to come hear the children this afternoon.”

The man really didn’t know when to quit did he?

Steve looked up from his untouched plate (one violin for Bucky) eyes unfocused. Steve furrowed his brow in confusion prompting Stark to continue.

“You weren't able to hear them properly yesterday. We've been learning more complex melodies recently and I think you might enjoy them.”

“We sang about goats.” Sara piped in, her voice trailing off at the end with uncertainty.

“I'm sorry. Goats?” Steve blinked down at her, nonplused.

“On a hilltop.” she finished her voice nearly a whisper.

“And we've other songs, don't we?” Stark added helpfully. “Songs about flowers and dances and the seasons and... well you remember them.”

The children were rustling, eyes looking from Stark to Stevie and back again.

They wanted him there Bucky realized with a pang, because he knew Stevie.

“Thank you children, but I have something important to discuss with Uncle Bucky today.” Steve answered, disappointing everyone it seemed but Bucky.

They were too old to fuss but he could feel the way Péter and Tacha deflated, their eyes dulled as if they’d expected such an answer from the first.

“It's a music lesson! We're not that busy, Stevie.” Bucky heard himself say. James’ eyes sparked with hope and Bucky, remembering Artur’s fear and the way Péter had gripped his knife, committed himself. He waved his hand nonchalantly as if he weren’t lying through his teeth. “I've been itching to play anyway.”

He sipped his coffee noisily. Just to be irritating. In for a penny they said.

“Besides, you could do with a break. Little more music, yeah?”

All sets of eyes were on Steve again. Well all sets but Péter and Ian who were doing wonderful impressions of being deaf. Steve was wearing his stone face again.

Bucky sighed inwardly.

“We don't have the time Bucky.”

Oh and his command voice too! Even if it weren’t the best damn thing for Steve, Bucky would have dug his heels in just for that. When was Steve going to realize that had never worked on him?

“No, I think I do.” He almost sang in reply. “I want to hear about this goat.”

“Buck.”

“That'll be all of you singing, yeah?” Bucky turned to Tacha smiling broadly, “except this one. She'll be dancing.”

“Fine.” Steve snapped. It was looking like a fine day if his patience was already this thin. “Just be quick about it.”

Just like that. As if the children were some chore to be raced through.

Bucky gripped his spoon tighter, squinting at Steve. The bastard wouldn't make him do it would he? He wouldn't make Bucky beg him.

Steve drained his cup and nodded at the rest of the table, standing stiffly.

“Have a good day, children. Listen to Herr Stark.”

Stefen caught Stark’s eye again and something passed between the two of them. Steve nodded and Stark smiled, if you could call it that. It was more like a resigned wince.

“Buck, I'll be in the-” Steve began.

“Come on, Stevie. What's a half hour?” Bucky pleaded softly, gut churning.

God no wonder the older children had stopped doing it. It was damn embarrassing.

“-study when you're finished. Ask Virginia for my whereabouts if I'm not.” Steve finished as if Bucky had not even spoken.

He nodded again and was gone without a backwards glace before Bucky could stop him. Bucky stared at the seat Steve had vacated dejectedly, hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

“Rude.” Stark said into the silence after a pregnant pause. “That's what that was. Rude.”

Bucky looked up as James coughed into his water, causing the other two boys to giggle nervously.

Unbelievable. But the children were cracking smiles.

“And he says I was the one raised by wolves.” Bucky added, purposely saying so with a mouth full of ham.

James’ giggles turned hysteric, his face turning red as he clutched his side. Bucky slung an arm around Natacha (who rolled her eyes at him) and looked up to find Stark watching them, his head cocked at Bucky with an inquisitive look swimming in his eyes.

Stark, whoever he was and whatever he was hiding, truly seemed to care for the children. Perhaps for now it was enough and between the two of them they could do a little damage in Steve's pristine little world. The closer he kept Stark the sooner he could figure out what he was about, and you know what they say, odd men must stick together.

Stark’s eyes darted down to Bucky's food and a horrified expression crawled over his face.

“Is that...did you put ham and fruit in your muesli?”

Well perhaps not that odd.

 

~*~*~

 

Bucky had always understood why music was hard for Steve. It had gotten them through long nights with empty bellies in the caravan, when they’d thumbed their noses to the gajo and kicked up their heels as if to say ‘I have nothing and still I am more than you’.

Even at war in the mountains, when no one knew who would wake in the morning, they could still cheer one another with the old songs. And after the war - when silence had almost broken Bucky and the Uncles had spit on the ground they both walked on - music had saved him, given him some purpose that wasn’t sending bullets into other men’s bodies and made him feel at home.

It was no wonder to him anyway why he’d become a man of music and Stevie had stayed a man of war. Steve had never been allowed to put the captain at rest. He’d been needed too much and God knew that Steve would always come through when needed. It was a mercy really that Peggy had come along.

The woman was a force to be reckoned with, a solider in her own right. The war had not spoiled her as it had them. She’d been so full of all the things Steve had forgotten laughter, love, and music, that it had not surprised Bucky in the least when Steve had lost his heart to her.

He’d never been so relieved when it happened, not wanting to imagine what might have eventually become of his friend had Steve continued to go on as he had been: pouring all that he had into the rebuild of Austria and forgetting how to live.

Bucky grit his teeth, thinking sadly that he didn’t have to imagine anymore. He was no more sure of how to help draw Steve out of that dark place than he’d been back then.

Stark’s invitation at breakfast had taken them both by surprise (the man’s audacity was as irritating as it was intriguing) but Bucky found himself agreeing with the monk in this one instance. Steve had missed the kids something terrible while they’d been in Vienna, but now that they were here he could barely look at them.

If Steve had his way they’d spend every hour cloistered in his office hashing over maps and letters trying to win the bloody war before it ever started.

Bucky thought again on the contents of that letter but a sickening twist in his guts had him dispelling the thoughts. They did no good to dwell on. His mother used to say misery would come in its own time. Why invite it in?

Stevie was missing out on something special, Bucky thought as he cleared his mind of his dark musings, allowing himself to enjoy the moment for what it was as he listened to Steve’s children sing, Stark directing them.

Begrudgingly Bucky had to give the man credit where credit was due. He’d brought music back to the house after all these years. Not only that, the children were not an easy bunch. And to corral them together and somehow get them to produce a sound like _that_ …

Bucky blinked away the sting in his eyes, because shit. He’d be no use to anyone blubbering like a baby, but as a pang of longing twisted in his chest he found himself wishing that Peggy could have been there to hear them.

They looked proud as peacocks up there, so much older than the last time Bucky had seen them and yet still the same. Tacha looked so regal it almost made him sick with pride but the foot slowly tapping against the floor and the barely discernable sway of her hips gave her away. That freckle faced little girl who dared anything and hated to lose to her brothers was itching to come out of this new grown up skin and it made Bucky smile.

As the last notes of the song faded Bucky stood and clapped, the kids beaming up at him with joyfully smug expressions as he met their eager inquiries, assuring them that they’d been the very best he’d ever heard and that yes he thought their father would have loved it. Privately Bucky made a promise to himself that Steve would be with him next time even if he had to drag him by his hair.

“But why all these slow dreary ballads?” He asked with an exaggerated expression of distaste and Maria giggled.

“Tony picks them. I think they’re pretty. Don’t you Uncle Bucky?”

“As a picture,” Bucky reassured her with a tap to the nose. He had not missed the unusual informality between Tony and the children, odd for someone so new in their life and an authority at that. He wasn’t sure yet if he like it.

“It’s just that they’re all so sad. Someone should give _Tony_ a hug and be done with it.”

Bucky had to smile when Sara rushed over to her teacher, who was still sitting behind the piano bench, with raised arms in wordless demand. Stark rolled his eyes in Bucky’s direction but still pulled the small girl close and lifted her up onto the bench beside him. She looked happy to be there.

“Thank you Sara, I needed one of those.” He quipped dryly but Bucky wasn’t fooled. A fellow would have to be made of stone to resist Sara.

Grinning Bucky turned and knelt down to fetch his violin from its case beside his chair, happy that he’d thought to bring it to the lesson.

“Tacha do you remember when your Baka taught you to dance the Kolo?” he asked and beside her Péter’s face lit with delight. Natacha only nodded but there was no mistaking that she remembered or the wistful expression that passed through her eyes.

“I don’t. What’s a Kolo?” James whined, tugging on Bucky’s shirt.

“Don’t pester, James, and Kolo is a dance.” Stark over by the piano plinked out some boisterous chords that made Sara clap with delight. He glanced curiously at Bucky. “It’s popular in the Balkans. The captain mentioned you grew up in Poland?”

“Wasn’t Poland then,” Bucky muttered, tightening the strings on the violin and saying nothing more. Stark was too nosey. “And Baka is what we used to call your grandmother James. You were very little when she came to live here. You might not remember her but she was a special lady. She loved to dance, didn’t she Tacha? Taught Péter and Tacha the Kolo, the Krakowiak, and all sorts of things.”

“That’s not fair,” James pouted looking crestfallen. The boy never wanted to be left behind. “How come she didn’t teach me?”

“You were too little.” Natacha reminded him as if that were the end of it.

“I bet Tacha could teach you now though.” Bucky instigated and the girl’s eyes flashed blue fire at him. He grinned. “I know you didn’t forget the steps. Not our Ginger Rogers.”

“Really Uncle Bucky we mustn’t. Father would not approve.”

Around them the other children’s good mood began to sink, worry tightening their faces. Bucky wasn’t having any of that, damn whatever Stevie thought the danger was.

“You leave your Da to me. Have I ever steered you wrong?” he pressed and Natacha’s fingers bunched in her skirt. She was wavering he knew.

“We’re in the middle of a lesson. Herr Stark-” she tried but luck was on his side because for whatever reason, Stark threw his lot in with Bucky’s.

“Is perfectly happy to transition into the dance portion of today’s lesson.”

“Come on Natacha.” Péter prompted, nudging her side. “Unless you think I’ve gotten better at it than you.”

Bucky laughed as Péter received the sort of glare from his sister that someone would bestow upon a bug they wished to squash.

Without further prompting Bucky brought his violin into position and drew out the first few rousing bars of a song the Uncles used to play watching as Péter herded his younger siblings into a semi-circle leaving him and Natacha in the middle.

Natacha glanced at him and this time Bucky saw something almost fearful in her eyes but so terribly hopeful that he knew he’d made the right call.

“Go on, show them how it’s done.” He prompted and the corner of her mouth pulled up into the smallest of smiles as she moved her body into position, spreading her arms out gracefully as a swan about to take flight.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

Several afternoons later found Tony and the children down by the lake trudging through the tall summer grass in search of bugs. Following morning lessons and lunch Tony had made good on his promise to Artur to teach them all about the local bug life. Following his lecture on the habits and patterns of such winged creatures as honeybees, butterflies, and moths, Tony had wrangled his motley crew once more into their play clothes, handed each a handcrafted net, allowed Artur to keep track of their glass jar for collection, and marched them out to the grounds to make an afternoon of it.

They’d not been out there long before voices on the terrace had drawn his attention and Tony had been surprised to see Pepper setting up Kaffeetrinken for the captain and Herr Bakhuizen. Though it wasn’t near as involved in his children’s day to day lives as Tony would like, it was a start. Stefen was out of his rooms at least, and the children seemed thrilled by his presence. Tony felt satisfied for the moment, even though he knew the achievement was far more likely due to Herr Bakhuizen’s presence than Stefen taking to heart anything Tony might have said to him.

They’d been at it long enough that Tony was considering calling a halt so the children would have time to take their finds to the schoolroom and wash up for supper, when suddenly a cry went up.

“Tony! I think I caught one!” James exclaimed excitedly and Tony twisted his torso to peer in his direction only to find the boy rushing across the grass toward them with one hand tightly clamped over the rim of his net.

James was so excited to share his catch he nearly tripped as he reached Tony who was watching carefully over Maria and Sara, who were searching the tall grasses close to the water’s edge for wild flowers. But the girls were quickly distracted by their eagerness to see what their brother had caught and came rushing over along with the others, cheeks flushed with excitement.

Artur eagerly thrust the glass jar (already containing one other species of butterfly, a poor housefly, and a strange looking beetle as yet unclassified) forward and as carefully as an excited boy of eight could manage James deposited the insect into the jar without managing to lose any of the others.

“Good catch James. Can you tell what kind it is?” Tony asked and James grinned up at him proudly, clutching the jar.

“I think it’s a busty blue!”

“It’s called a Dusky Blue,” Natacha corrected the younger boy with a click of her tongue as she peered at the pale blue butterfly fluttering within the jar. “And don’t address Herr Stark by his first name. It’s disrespectful.”

“No it isn’t!” James insisted hotly. “Tony said I could. Didn’t you say I could T-

“Yes, yes, calm down now. You’re shaking our small friend here.” Tony interrupted the brewing squabble to gingerly pry the jar from the boy’s hands and hold it up for all of them to see. “Okay, so James has caught what does indeed appear to be a Dusky Large Blue. But the question is, is our friend here male or female?”

“It’s a boy like me!” Artur declared. “You can tell because the wings are prettier than the girls.”

“Tony, why don’t girl butterflies like to be pretty?” Maria asked, tugging gently upon his trouser leg and Tony smiled.

“They’re very sensible like good little Austrians Maria, and Artur you’re correct. We have ourselves a fine young man here to add to our habitat.”

“Is it a baby?” Sara asked next and Tony grinned shaking his head.

“Butterflies are caterpillars before they become butterflies _patatina_ , which look like little worms.” Tony wiggled his fingers in the girls face and she giggled, ducking behind her sister. “The females drop their eggs close to where the ants build their nests. Who remembers why?”

“Because the caterpillars give off a scent that confuses the ants.” Péter answered and Tony nodded. He opened his mouth to add something to the boy’s answer but Natacha beat him to it.

“They hide in the ant nest, pretending to be one of them so that the ants will feed them; but it’s very dangerous because if they don’t do all the right things, then the ants know that they’ve been tricked, and then they eat the caterpillars.”

Natacha watched their captive butterfly almost the entire time she spoke, but at the very end she raised sharp blue eyes to his and pinned him with such a stare that Tony could not doubt for an instant what she meant by it. It was suddenly hard to swallow, the air feeling so constricted that Tony might as well have traded places with the damned butterfly; but he took a breath and met that stare because he’d be damned if he showed her fear.

“Right as usual Natacha.” He nodded at the young woman in acknowledgment before smiling down at the others. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to call it quits for this afternoon-” a chorus of groans rose up and quickly quieted at Tony’s stern frown.

“Very good. Now run inside and wash up. None of you’d better dare bring dirty hands or faces to Frau Hogan’s table. She might skin you.”

Laughing and chattering amongst themselves the children began the trek back inside, waving cheerfully at their father as they passed the steps of the terrace. Tony stayed put, staring out over the water and collecting himself because he was far more shaken by the things that Natacha had said (and not said) then he’d have liked to admit.

He didn’t know how much she knew, but then again it didn’t matter so much whether she knew he was a Jew or not. She knew he was disloyal to the Reich and that was enough to hang a man.

“Clever girl,” he muttered with a half-smile, because despite everything he still felt proud of how she used her sharp wits. He’d probably still be proud when he was swinging by his neck, and if that didn’t say how utterly attached Tony had become to the Rogers children he didn’t know what would.

Not very smart, for a Genius.

Tony sighed after a long moment and turned back towards the house, resolved once more to let what would be, simply be.

Though their voices were low, as Tony approached the steps of the terrace where Captain Rogers and Herr Bakhuizen were sat, he still caught the tail end of their conversation and felt the obvious tension between the two men. He’d just climbed the first step when he paused, stilled suddenly by the tense secretive nature of their murmured conversation.

“… Jessika says there has been no word from Lukas in weeks, not since he was shipped to Dachau.” Bakhuizen was saying lowly. “She’s worried they’ve executed him already. No idea what she and the girl are going to do now. She shouldn’t be on that damn list.”

“They arrested him in Munich.” Stefen answered, voice pitched equally low. “By the time we heard they’d already transferred him to Dachau. I’ve asked after him but I have to be discreet. There hasn’t been a Deurr scheduled for execution.”

Tony’s mind raced. Dachau? The name tickled at his memory and it was a moment before even his powerful mind could dig it up out of the millions of bits of stored data. They’d built a prison in Dachau for all of Hitler’s enemies. When the church in Innsbruck had been raided they’d taken the men they’d arrested there, Tony remembered. The brothers at St. Péter’s had whispered about nothing else for weeks.

Captain Rogers knew someone who’d been arrested? Tony’s heart pounded as his mind whirled, examining the new information and trying to make it fit with the rest of the puzzle. The mystery was thick around the man indeed, but not impenetrable for someone of Tony’s intelligence. The clues were all there, he just had to find the piece that would bring them all together. Stefen was afraid (they had everything to fear). ~~No singing or dancing~~. No singing in public. Dr. Erskine’s fishy diagnosis. Samuel and the staff were family. Sam was gone: shipped to safety. Lukas Deurr had been arrested in Munich and had left behind a wife and daughter and Stefen cared enough not to wish him executed.

A man with Stefen Rogers peculiarities did not fit within the Nazi machine. Tony was willing to say now that the captain was likely not a willing supporter of the National Socialist party. Was this why Nik had asked Tony to spy on him? Was Stefen involved in the resistance movement?

 _Don’t get crazy Stark_.

Tony berated himself. It was one thing to let his thumping (and far too hopeful) heart get mushy over the man’s children, it was another thing to latch onto wishful thinking. He would imagine that many officers were less than genuinely supportive of the Reich, but that was a far cry from outright treason and rebellion. Many of those same men found it within themselves to follow their orders, no matter how distasteful. Captain Rogers was no doubt the same.

 _But Maybe not_.

Hope never died it seemed.

This at least explained why Nik was watching the Captain so closely. Rogers was a powerful man with many connections. He could be a powerful ally.

Or a deadly enemy.

“I told Lukas to take her and Danijella and get on a boat, months ago. Now what the hell is Jessika going to do?” Bakhuizen cursed through a stream of smoke, catching Tony’s attention once more. “That’s what trying to be a damn hero gets you.”

“Jessika is a strong woman. She’ll take care of herself and Danijella. She knows her own mind Buck.” the captain replied and something clattered on the table.

“Ka xlia ma pe tute, Stevie!” Bakhuizen snapped in that tongue that Tony recognized from the night in the captain’s room. It just added to the mystery surrounding the man. Stefen had written in his letters that he’d been raised in Poland and Bakhuizen was supposed to be a childhood friend. Tony’s polish was restricted to greetings and asking where he could relieve himself, but he could tell it wasn’t that.

He didn’t get a chance to hear any more of it though because when Bakhuizen went on it was once again in German. “You’ve heard the stories. You know what they did to Strasser. If you had a damn bit of sense you’d send the children away Stefen.”

And there it was, the very reason that Tony had stepped into this Nazi officer’s home in the first place. Steve’s desire to send his children abroad was Tony’s ticket to freedom, and yet the captain’s foreboding silence on the subject did not inspire the fear it should have; at least not for himself.

Tony cleared his throat to make his presence known before he resumed climbing the stairs; because he’d long ago learned the thing about lurking around eavesdropping on conversations was that the longer you lingered the greater your chances were of getting caught.

“Captain. Herr Bakhuizen.” Tony nodded to them both though they’d gone silent at the first sight of him. Stefen was watching him intently as if trying to gauge how much he’d overheard before he’d made his presence known. To Tony’s surprise it was the seemingly ever peevish Bakhuizen who stopped Tony as he made to pass their table and gestured for him to take the empty seat.

“Have a drink with us. You must be parched from all that running around.” Bakhuizen gestured to the spread of coffee and bite sized treats upon the table.

Tony took a seat carefully. Though both men had been sat up here for most of the afternoon it didn’t look as if they’d touched much of the cake, and if the crumbs littering Bakhuizen’s plate were anything to go by he’d eaten the majority of what had been touched.

He’d pass it off as the captain simply not wishing to ruin his super but he’d shared enough meals with the man now to know that he hardly ate then either. There were many things that could take away a man’s appetite, Tony knew, but he couldn’t help but flash back to that night in the captain’s room- see the wild white of his eyes and his shaking limbs again.

At the abbey when the nightmares would get particularly bad for Tony he used to do whatever he could not to sleep; which usually meant long hours in the workshop. Brother Bruce used to bring him food. Sometimes he’d eat it. Usually not.

To busy his hands Tony reached for an empty cup and saucer from the tray and ignored the scrutiny of Stefen and his strange friend as they watched him prepare his drink.

First he unwrapped one of the small chocolates on the tray and placed it at the bottom of his cup, then he covered it with a thin layer of milk from the small pitcher before filling the cup to the brim with coffee. Stirred twice and it was perfection.

Tony sighed with pleasure after the first sip, the aromatic smell of it thick in his nose even as the sweet nutty flavor flooded his tongue. He’d say one thing for the Rogers household, their kitchen stocked some of the best coffee he’d tasted in years. The coffee at the abbey was steps away from being declared an actual sin against God (Tony should know; he’d written the petition and sent it off to His Holiness himself).

Tony smiled and settled deeper into his seat, determined to enjoy every last beautiful drop.

“Are you going to do right by that cup Stark? You’re making me feel dirty.”

Tony cracked one eye open to peer across the little round table and found Herr Bakhuizen sneering at him but Tony didn’t rise to the bait. Bakhuizen could shove his head up his ass and walk backwards with two hail Marys for good measure, for all that Tony cared. Good coffee should be appreciated.

“Melange?” Tony turned at the sound of Stefen’s voice to his right and nearly jumped, finding the man’s face much closer than he expected. The captain was leaning close to peer down at the contents of his cup. When his eyes flicked up to Tony’s he found them strangely intent. Too intent for coffee.

“Cappuccino.” Tony insisted pertly and he didn’t miss the small huff Stefen let out under his breath or the roll of his eyes.

“Kapuziner then.” Stefen tried but Tony was having none of it.

“No. Captain. A cappuccino. There _is_ a difference.”

“I’ve been to a lot of coffee houses, Stark, including the Italian’s. There really aint much difference.” Bakhuizen countered and Tony, bored with the line of conversation already, plucked up one of the sweet cakes and gestured with it as he explained.

“There is actually a world of difference. It’s a matter of mathematics Herr Bakhuizen, the concentration of bean versus the cut of milk and we mustn’t forget the variable of foam and spices, but I won’t burden you with the details because the honest truth is I couldn’t make a proper cappuccino without espresso. Sweet Mary mother of Christ, I’d make deals with the devil himself for a good espresso.” Tony sighed dramatically closing his eyes once more (not missing the incredulous expression that flashed over Bakhuizen’s face). On his right the captain huffed once more but Tony’s mouth turned up because he thought there was a decidedly amused ring to that sound now.

Opening his eyes Tony began preparing a small plate of cakes, dipping the end of each daintily into the coffee within his cup as he went on, because in for a penny and all that.

“This is sadly lacking that, not to mention foam, spice, and the milk has long since cooled. So it really isn’t anything but delicious and comforting. Just as mother used to make it.” Tony extended the plate with the small portion of cake toward Stefen who stared at it and then back at him as if neither of them made any sense until Tony quietly murmured, “She was very fond of the combination with chocolate and sweet cake.”

Tony was tempted to look away as Stefen’s eyes searched his but he resisted the feeling as cowardly. He’d not talked about his mother in a long time, but if a fourteen-year-old boy could pluck up the courage, Tony could hardly expect less of himself. And besides, it was for a good cause. Mama would not have minded.

The captain nodded and took the plate from him. And because Tony wasn’t a fool he kept watching him expectantly, bright smile in place, until good manners demanded Stefen actually begin consuming the sentimental little gift. Tony was even happier to see that he didn’t just stop at the one, that apparently his mother’s favorite afternoon treat had found favor with Rogers.

“It’s very good.” Stefen murmured around a bite of cake somewhat defensively when he caught Bakhuizen gapping at him. Bakhuizen let out a sound between a grunt and an exclamation of shock, staring between the captain and Tony with his brow furrowed suspiciously as if he’d missed something crucial. Which of course he had. He’d not been there to hear Tony admit to his parents’ grisly deaths and his poor handling of it all, so he couldn’t know why Stefen would feel pressured to accept the offering. It was playing a bit dirty but the man should eat more.

“Let me.” Bakhuizen reaching for the plate and Tony frowned at him. To his relief the captain moved the plate away, shaking his head with the hint of a grin as his friend scowled at him.

“Herr Stark prepared it for me. Ask him and I’m sure he’d be happy to prepare some for you.”

Tony hid a smile behind the rim of his cup, taking a satisfied sip as Bakhuizen opened his mouth to retort back at the captain, but what he might have said was lost because at that very moment the doors to the terrace opened and Hammer appeared, the three men turning to watch as the stately butler approached.

Hammer looked surprised to see Tony sitting down with the captain and his mouth turned down in disapproval. The ridiculous man had his nose so high in the air he was in danger of catching flies as he reached them and pointedly ignored Tony’s existence, extending the tray he carried on one arm with a single envelope in the center toward Bakhuizen.

“A telegram just arrived for you Sir.”

Péter ought to be pleased, Tony thought as Bakhuizen took the small envelope and excused himself, following Hammer back inside. Beside him Stefen sighed and muttered under his breath.

“I suppose this means Péter will be late for super.”

“I suppose it does Captain.”

“And I suppose you’d think badly of me if I punished him.”

“I might.” Tony shrugged. “But I don’t think you’re all that concerned with what I think.”

“On the contrary Herr Stark, I find myself constantly curious as to what goes on in your mind.” When Tony narrowed his eyes at him Stefen’s mouth spread into the kind of expression someone kinder would have called innocent. It put Tony in mind of little James so fortunately he knew better.

“Constantly?” Tony asked succinctly.

“Frighteningly so.” Rogers drawled and the smirk only widened. Now the resemblance was uncanny. Or perhaps not. He was the boy’s father after all. Why shouldn’t they resemble each other? Tony could not figure out why he always tempted to wax poetic where Captain Rogers was concerned. There was only one thing for it. Tony would take the man’s invitation to share his thoughts, because who was he to waste a perfectly good invitation like that. Smiling once more into his cup Tony took a fortifying sip before lowering cup and saucer to the table.

“Well then, if I may speak freely Captain?”

“Have you stopped?”

Tony ignored the dry quip.

“It’s foolish to lock a child up in a virtual tower, set rules in place designed to isolate and restrict them, and then punish the child for rebellion. You should have predicted it. Your children are half you.”

“I believe you just insulted me.”

“Did I? Well they are also half their mother, but if I’ve got that story right she was a polished lady who became a war nurse while all her friends were at home clutching their pearls. The kind of woman who has the audacity to find the grubbiest, most ill-bred, of noble fools in His Majesties army and then marry the man against her families wishes, doesn’t sound likely to put up with towers either.” Tony glanced sideways at Stefen, still unsure about bringing up his late wife but other than a minor tensing of his shoulders the captain did not react. His lips did turn upward in a small hint of a smile, though it seemed sad to Tony.

“My point is Captain,” Tony sighed. “Your children want nothing more than to know the world and their place in it… and that starts at home. Don’t think that they don’t need you to be there, to take an active role, just because you put clothes on their back and keep a roof over their head. They could do without those things in a pinch… but they can’t do without their father. This I know for a fact.”

Tony looked away, unable to face the intense scrutiny of the captain’s eyes and picked up his cup once more. He could tell that Stefen wanted to ask him things but Tony was thankful when he didn’t. It was impossible to speak on this subject without remembering his own lonely childhood but this wasn’t about him… He could have admitted to Stefen that he’d heard the end of his conversation with, could have pressed the man to think of his children’s welfare and send them abroad already to secure his own wellbeing.

He should have, Tony thought to himself as he sipped his coffee thinking again of Natacha, remembering the way she’d stared at him that afternoon like a spider watching a fly caught in its web. If he were really as smart as he claimed to be he should heed the warning and leave this place, try his luck on his own. Nobody would blame him for running. He didn’t owe this family anything.

But, Tony thought, resolved once more, this was his fight (and what would be would be). It was a small thing perhaps: change one family, change seven young lives (hopefully for the better) and take them back from the hands of those who had taken his own family. A fool’s rebellion maybe. But his.

So perhaps it wasn’t small at all. Not to Tony Stark.

 

~*~*~*~

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

Tony looked up from his meal to survey the seven despondent faces of his charges as they picked at their plates.

The captain had not joined them for lunch (yet again) and upon learning from Pepper that he and Bakhuizen had departed before lunch that day to parts unknown, and that they were not expected for dinner, gone were the children’s hopes of seeing him at all.

And gone was Tony’s hope that anything he’d said to the man that afternoon on the terrace had registered.

He swallowed another mouthful of soup and tried to ignore the bitterness that brought him.

“Eat up,” he announced into the silence, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. The children turned to stare at him, waiting.

“We’ve an engineering lesson this afternoon.”

Tony expected it when Péter looked excited but it was James who lit up like someone had declared Christmas was coming twice that year.

“Are we going to build boats?!” He demanded eagerly. Tony nodded, daintily sipping his soup to hide the smile tugging at his lips and the boy whooped. Natacha frowned and scolded him to control himself but James largely ignored her, beginning to inhale his lunch as if he could not eat it fast enough.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“It will be very dangerous… but I think you are right Captain Rogers, if Austria is too free itself from this madness then it is up to the people. We must cry out for liberty.” Franz stated with a level of conviction that seemed to suck the air from the room.

Stefen had finally managed to have that talk with Bucky and to collect the final names for their list. List in hand they’d met that morning in the small flat above Mittlestaedt Press, where Franz Mittlestaedt had lived and worked for the past twenty years.

Mittlestaedt was by no means as large as some of the printing houses in Vienna, Franz owning just the one press and employing only a few helpers, he was largely in the production of local magazines and bulletins, but it was probably better that way. There would be less scrutiny and fewer eyes watching.

“They’re going to have to do more than cry before all is said and done.” Bucky grunted from where he sat on a stool by the window. Every few moments or so he would glance out it, keeping an eye on the streets below.

Steve withdrew the small journal he’d tucked within his breast pocket and pushed it across the table towards Franz.

“The list of names. It goes without saying that you are to show this to no one. The magazines are only to be sent to those listed as subscribers. No one is to be added to that list accept through myself or James and we will always do so in person.”

“Of course Captain.” Franz nodded slowly tucking the journal away. “I am sure we will all enjoy your artwork. How often are you expecting to publish an issue?”

“Once a month. I will send the drafts by post. The messages will be coded so your staff should not become suspicious of their contents.”

“Don’t leave that lying around either,” Bucky barked from the corner. “Last thing we need is the Nazi’s getting ahold of that list.”

“I’m not a fool James.” Franz sighed. “I’m putting my life at risk agreeing to this.”

“At risk?” Bucky scoffed. “They discover what we’re doing here and you, me, Stefen, and everybody else stupid enough to subscribe to that Mag is dead. You understand? It aint smart putting all our names in one place.”

“Right now the resistance effort is an unorganized shambles. We have to unify and we need a way of getting messages out and sharing news Bucky,” Steve returned to the same argument they’d been having since Steve had come up with the idea.

“Franz won’t know the code.” Steve turned back to the thin man sat across from him and shook his head when it looked as if Franz might protest. “That way if you are questioned you’ll have nothing to betray.”

Franz paled at the prospect of torture but the man’s grey eyes were still steely with determination as he nodded.

Steve left Mittelstaedt Press that afternoon feeling strangely uplifted. When he and Bucky had left that morning to finalize the names on their list and seek out Franz he’d been riddled with tension, sure that just around every corner they were going to find the S.S. crouched in wait. But they’d been undiscovered.

Their plan was in motion. As soon as Steve could draw up the first draft, the first issue of AVENGERS would publish and their network of resistance would go from the subversion of individual citizens to organized sabotage.

Somehow it was easier to breathe knowing this. The sun shone a little brighter. There were a million and one things to be done but suddenly all Steve wanted was for Stark to be there with the children, to take them on a walk through the square so they could bask in the same sun he was.

“Slow down Stevie,” Bucky grumbled behind him. “Where the hell are you going so fast?”

“Home.” Steve realized, faltering in his step for the barest of seconds and then quickening with newfound purpose. Tossing a smirk over his shoulder he waved at Bucky to hurry up. “You’ve gotten old on me Bucky, always falling behind.”

“Fuck off,” the man grumbled catching up to sling an arm around Steve’s shoulders. He didn’t flinch this time, laughing instead as Bucky muttered, “we can’t all be built like gods.”

The entire drive home Stefen could not shake the adrenaline rushing through his system. The words that Stark had said to him that morning outside the music room, along with the ones shared outside on the terrace, kept coming back to him like a carnival ride slowly doing a circuit though his thoughts.

He needed to get to the schoolroom, see his children, because Tony had been right from the beginning. Whatever else happened, Stefen did not want his children to look back on these years and wonder if he had been a good man or if he had loved them. They needed to be certain of those things and heaven help them, but he was all they had. He’d missed sitting in on their music lesson but if they hurried he could be back in time for their final lesson before supper.

When he and Bucky pulled up to the garage it was to find Stark and the children not in the schoolroom as he’d expected but outside with the garage doors open wide engaged in what at first glance appeared to be some form of carpentry.

They’d procured a long table from somewhere and there were boxes of tools and lumber stacked haphazardly around them. The children were back in those hideous jumpers Stark had insisted were play clothes (god only knew where he’d bought them) and his own breaches were rolled up exposing his calfs. His shirt was untucked and was also baring several questionable stains. Harold, who was sat on a chair nearby happily watching the whole production, jumped up anxiously as the car rolled up the drive.

“What the hell is Stark up to now?” Bucky wondered at the scene. Steve wondered that himself as the children paused at the sight of the car, their expressions torn between excitement and anxiousness. Their wariness made something funny pull in Steve’s chest.

“Captain! We weren’t expecting you home.” Stark greeted them cheerfully as they exited the car. Stefen deposited the keys in Harold’s outstretched palm wordlessly and nodded at the chauffer when he apologized quietly and explained he’d park the car in the front, seeing as Stark and the children were currently in the way of its usual place.

“Evidently not. What is all this?” Steve demanded waving to all the boards and the tools scattered about. Now that he and Bucky were close he was somewhat alarmed to see Péter operating a heavy looking saw and the smooth handled chisel in Natacha’s hands had his heart racing.

The only thing that kept Steve from launching into yelling was how Stark had clearly kept the smaller children down at his end of the table, occupied with the menial tasks of smoothing, turning the handle on the drill, and fishing out nails from the multitude of little boxes strewn about whenever Stark called for them.

“We are engineering boats, steam powered boats.” Stark explained, though it was no real explanation at all. “And not to worry Captain, the crew has been warned to only use the steam power in controlled settings such as the bathtub, as unfortunately the steering will be limited.”

“But Tony says we can work on that on our next model,” James chirped, Steve observing that he was turning the handle of a hand drill while Ian carefully held it and the nail in place, the pink of his tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he concentrated.

Steve frowned disapprovingly at hearing the child once more be so familiar with an adult. He hadn’t felt right bringing it up before because he’d been riddled with guilt for practically maiming Stark, and he found he couldn’t bring himself to say anything now because his sullen James was bright eyed and ruddy cheeked and looked entirely too serious as he finished with, “good engineers always know there’s something to do better next time and they aren’t discouraged by that. Right Tony?”

James looked to Stark with a flicker of uncertainty as if he’d just realized that the vein throbbing at his Father’s temple did not bode well and Stark nodded with a small smile, ignoring Stefen’s glower (like he always did).

“Couldn’t have put it better myself James. Slower on that drill or you risk bending the nail.”

“Stark! Can I have a word please?” Stefen growled intending to put a stop to the whole affair but he halted when he felt a tug on his hand. He looked down, startled to find Artur standing beside him.

“Do you want to help me paint my boat Father?” He pleaded, tugging Stefen toward the bench. “We finished the hard part already, honest, and Tony says it’s got the best body he’s ever seen. Which means it’s going to win the race for sure!”

“No it isn’t!” James immediately snapped and Artur stuck his tongue out at him.

“Boys, that’s not sportsmanly behavior.” Stark chided, though Steve noticed he’d gone back to banging the end of a thin piece of metal into a flat disk and hadn’t even bothered to look up. Steve was caught by the motions of his hands: their quickness and confidence as they plied the metal into his desired shape was arresting, like watching an artist at work.

“Fine but I want uncle Bucky to help me then!” James declared already pushing his brother away. Ian looked embarrassed. “Ian can help Péter.”

“No,” Steve barked, yanked from his thoughts as he let Artur lead him to his spot at the table. “Péter looks like he’s fine handling the _saw_. Though he’s young for it.” Steve glared in Stark’s direction but the man didn’t even look up, though Steve didn’t miss the way he smirked.

“Péter’s old enough to know how to handle himself Stefen,” Bucky said, clapping Steve on the back as he moved to join James and Ian. “And quit being so bossy James. We need Ian ‘cause I need one of you to tell me what we’re doing here and the other to show me.”

“So that means you’re staying?” Artur’s blue eyes widening with delight and Stefen remembered what had driven them home in the first place. Despite his reservations about the appropriateness of having his young children so close to dangerous tools, he found himself nodding.

“I suppose it does.” He conceded, lifting the boy onto his lap as he commandeered his empty seat at the table. “Why don’t you show me your vessel?”

As Artur scrambled to show him all the parts of the completed little boat and describe the litany of colors he was going to paint it, Steve listened. The sun shone down on them and the breeze tickled Artur’s blond hair; and slowly the energy that had wound Steve up tight after meeting with Franz began to leak out of him. In its wake was something quiet and still, but for once the quiet did not unnerve him.

He felt eyes on him and looked up, expecting to find Bucky or one of the children trying to catch his attention, but when he looked around everyone was busy, chatting away as they concentrated on their projects.

 

~*~*~~*~*~

 

Tony did not know what the captain and Bakhuizen did all day holed up in Rogers study. It seemed to involve a great many rustling of papers and telephone calls at all hours of the day and night. Had Tony been more concerned with his duties as a spy he might have tried his hand at peering through key holes and listening at doorways but he was no longer so concerned by whatever business kept Rogers away from his children, as he was with finding a way to put an end to it.

The afternoon that Rogers had joined them in their boat making had been promising. It had certainly come as a surprise to the children (as well as Tony) and it was painful to watch them get their hopes up for more of his attention only to have those hopes crushed when he retreated back into his solitude the very next day.

Tony didn’t understand it. Rogers was not the ogre Tony had once thought him. He was far from unfeeling. He’d given every indication of wanting to be a good father and domesticity looked far too good on him to fool anyone (least of all a genius) into think that family life didn’t make the man happy.

So _why_ did he insist upon holding himself aloof? Pure stubbornness, Tony decided observing the man as he silently ate his dinner, doing very little to engage in the conversation Bakhuizen kept up with the children despite Ian’s longing looks and shy attempts to rope him in.

He didn’t know details but Tony didn’t need specifics to know that Rogers was up to his neck and sinking fast. He knew what type of man Captain Rogers was supposed to be, as surely as he knew that he’d never be that man. Rogers wore the uniform of a Nazi officer because necessity demanded it but it was as much a sham as the robes that Tony had worn at the abbey. Maybe Stefen could never be at home in that uniform because that boy that Tony had heard about, the soldier boy who defended the meek and stood up to tanks, was still alive in him. Or maybe that was just Tony’s foolish heart, getting dangerously mushy again.

It made Tony ache to think about. As much as he missed the abbey some days, Tony had never belonged there. But Rogers… Rogers was a soldier. He’d bled for this country. He’d loved and believed in Austria in a way that Tony never had. That uniform had once been a symbol of honor and pride. Now it was tainted. And where did that leave a man like Rogers?

His office smelled heavily of burnt paper these days. Hughard’s office had smelled like that, near the end, like secrets burned in the dark.

And where did that leave any of them?

Tony didn’t know what was coming but as his eyes moved over the table, resting momentarily on each child as if to memorize them, he was overcome by a swell of strange protectiveness.

“The boats have dried,” Tony heard himself announce and the quiet chatter between Bakhuizen and the children dwindled. James and Artur sat up straighter in their seats, already eager for what they hoped he’d say next. Tony didn’t disappoint them.

“I was thinking of taking the children on another excursion.”

The air of excitement in the room intensified ten-fold but the children seemed to instinctively know to keep quiet, their eyes watching their father carefully as he continued to eat. Stefen acted as if he hadn’t even heard Tony, his movements unhurried as he lifted fork to mouth and chewed.

“Where to?” It was Bakhuizen who grunted the question.

“Across the lake. You’ve got people boats. I’ve been teaching them about the local wildlife.” Tony explained with an expressive wave of his fork. “An appreciation and mastery of nature is essential in a robust German didn’t you know? It’s stamped all over the curriculum. We could expand that lesson by going on a hike. Perhaps even camping outdoors! And as a treat they could race their boats on the lake. But only after the educational portion of course.”

Bakhuizen snorted as if he found something funny about that. Tony watched the captain, both of them aware of the sharp inhale of breath coming from James, as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

After what felt like a year Rogers finally looked up from his plate and stared directly at Tony.

“The children have not been well Stark. I don’t like them to exhaust themselves.”

“Father, Tony- ” Péter blanched at the glower that Rogers sent in his direction and amended quickly. “Herr Stark took us into town and we were fine. Weren’t we?” He glanced around at his siblings who all nodded eagerly, continuing to plead silently with their eyes.

“Is that so?” Bakhuizen laughed. “Way I heard it you all came back with heat exhaustion. Hammer says you were in hysterics.”

“That was only because those boys – ” James began but quickly aborted with a pain filled exhalation of breath that made Tony suspect he’d been kicked under the table by Ian.

“What boys?” the captain, no fool, demanded to know and Tony quickly tried to diffuse the situation.

“A couple of boys in the market square got rowdy is all. Unseemly business. Good thing we won’t have to worry about that way up here in the hills. It will be just us and the children. We’ll bring plenty of water this time and there will be a whole lake to cool off in.” And Tony, because he’d always press an advantage when he had it, decided to play his best card.

“And I know the children would be happy to have time with you.”

“You’re coming too Father?” Artur seemed to catch on first, blue eyes going wide with tremulous hope and Tony’s heart tugged. Around the table the other six were clearly in agreement, a chorus of voices ringing out in variations of enticement.

When Natacha sweetly pleaded, “Oh please father, say you will” something like shame twisted in Tony’s gut for getting their hopes up. His tug of war with their father was one thing, but he should not have put them in the middle of it. Now it was only going to break their hearts if the captain refused.

Bakhuizen cleared his throat and added, “What could it hurt Stefen?”

The children held their breath and Tony found himself holding it right alongside them.

Rogers held Tony’s gaze and Tony could see the anger in his eyes. He wasn’t a man who liked to be cornered. But he wasn’t made of stone either and Tony refused to balk, meeting the man’s stare and digging deeper for some hint of what he might be feeling behind that stony mask.

There was a flash of something vulnerable there. It took Tony back to that night again and he wondered what Stefen was so afraid of.

“You may take the children,” he finally relented with a sigh and Tony knew better than to get his hopes up, because no sooner had his emotions begun to soar then Rogers delivered the parting blow. “But Bucky and I have too much to do.”

The disappointment all but sucked the air out of Tony’s chest. He didn’t have to look at the children to know they felt the same. Maria sniffled.

“Speak for yourself Stevie,” Bakhuizen, ever a surprise, practically growled setting his cutlery down with a clatter. “I’m on vacation. I think a trip in the woods sounds fun.”

That at least seemed to bring back some of the good cheer, James grinning gleefully in delight, his legs swinging so furiously under the table his chair creaked and groaned. The captain glowered at his friend, looking somewhat betrayed, but nodded.

“Well then I hope you enjoy your vacation Bucky. I think I’ll retire for the night.”

He stood stiffly, appearing not to notice his children’s crestfallen faces, his eyes catching Tony’s momentarily as they often did. Tony stared right back, not bothering to hide his frustration.

Stubborn. That was the man’s problem. Stubborn enough to drive a man to either drink or violence, and at this moment Tony wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

 

~*~*~~*~

 

Bucky wasn’t sure what woke him so early that morning. Some sixth sense maybe. Maybe years of looking out for the same person just gave you an affinity for them, or maybe it was just one of those nights when his body sensed the nightmares were going to come and did him a favor by waking him up.

He’d thought about going to the kitchen, seeing what he could scrounge up. He’d stopped by Stefen’s room as part of habit, just needing to assure himself the man was alright, not as surprised as he could have been to find the bed empty.

He _was_ surprised to find him on the terrace of all places, sitting at the table with a sketchpad open, pencil scratching away at paper. Bucky was happy to see it, as it had been far too long since Stefen had taken the time to draw anything. He only wished it wasn’t the dangerous endeavor of passing coded messages that had brought it back again.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” He grumbled taking the empty seat beside Steve and pulling the one across the table close enough to prop his feet up. “You’re going to lose your eyesight drawing in the dark.”

“The sun is rising,” Stefen disputed not looking up from his work and Bucky glanced out over the lake taking in the pink and gold splash on the water and sighing.

He frowned, eyes drawn to something moving down below by the lake. After a moment of squinting he realized that it was Stark and that the soft sounds of banging drifting up toward them were from the hammer the man was currently taking to the underside of a small fishing boat.

That’s right. Stark was taking the children camping that afternoon. They were still glum about the fact that Stefen had refused to join them.

For a few minutes Bucky sat silently watching the man work. God only knew where he’d pulled the old boats from. If memory served they’d belonged to Peggy’s family, old when they’d been dragged up here, and now likely full of leaks after years of neglect.

But Stark appeared to know what he was about, banging about down there, every movement smooth and confident. He was focused in a way that Bucky hadn’t observed in him yet, the man always twitching and talking a mile a minute… he looked at home.

Stefen exhaled softly next to him and Bucky became aware of a strange tension in the air. He looked up to find Stefen staring out over the water… but no, his gaze was fixed slightly lower than that, watching Stark fixing the boats down by the water’s edge the same way he was.

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to his sketchbook expecting to see drafts of the AVENGERS cartoon he’d described to Bucky when he’d laid out his crazy plan; instead he was met with the beginnings of a portrait. A portrait of a dark haired man wielding hammer and wrench illuminated by a rising sun.

Huh.

“You ought to come with us Stevie.” Bucky murmured decisively and Stefen stiffened beside him. “And before you go on about the war and all the shit you think you have to do to stop it, you ought to think about what happens if you’re right. What happens when we try our best but war still comes. What happens if they catch you, or you go off fightin like I know you will, and you don’t come home?”

Stefen continued to stare out across the water, shoulders set in a stubborn line and Bucky cursed.

“Shit Stevie, is that really how you want this to go down? They lose their mother and have to watch their father walk away from them and not come back? Fuck!” Bucky was so angry he couldn’t look at him anymore, reaching in the pocket of his pants for his cigarettes before remembering he was in his night ware and giving up.

“What the hell do you know about it Buck?” Stefen exploded, slamming his sketchbook down on the table. Bucky’s heart leaped in his chest but he braced himself, glad for the fight if only because he knew Stefen and would always prefer to see him come up swinging. It was a good thing. Far better than the alternative.

“It’s so damn easy for you!” Stefen shouted at him. “You get to waltz in and do and say whatever the hell you want, and who the hell cares if you do? The only one who gets hurt when you fuck up is you. This is my family, Bucky! And they will _kill_ them.”

“Fuck you, no Stefen fuck you for saying that!” Bucky growled. “They’re my family too. And maybe it’s easy for you to forget where ya come from, but they are rounding people up out there.” Bucky swung his arm, gesturing out over the lake as if it stood in for all of the Reichland.

“Whole caravans shipped off to god knows where Stevie! My father. My sister. The Uncles. You think I don’t got people to worry about?”

Steve looked like someone had punched him and as much as that was viciously satisfying there was still a part of Bucky that felt like a bastard for saying it. Cursing, he lunged out of his seat, breathing hard as he paced the terrace. Stopping abruptly to lean against the railing Bucky paused to catch his breath, the silence thick between them.

“They’re going to take whatever you let them take Steve and a lot more than that. Who you are, what you stand for… don’t let them take that.” Bucky huffed after a long moment. “And the Stevie I know wouldn’t turn his back on family.”

Sighing deeply Bucky let it sit, glumly staring out at the water, fully expecting Steve to get stubborn on him and for his words to fall on deaf ears. It was a long time before he heard Steve stir behind him. He didn’t turn around to watch him leave, so he was a bit startled when the man joined him at the railing. Stevie didn’t say anything, just heaved a sigh and leaned, knocking his shoulder against Bucky.

A rusty chuckle rumbled in his chest and Bucky dropped his head, relieved that even now after all these years they could fight like cats and dogs and still come out the other end.

“Look I’m sorry I said it like that,” Bucky apologized. He knew that it hadn’t been any easier for Stefen to leave the caravan than it had been for Bucky.

“It’s alright…” Stefen responded quietly, and then after a moment he admitted, “You’re actually not the first person who has said something like that to me.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, wondering for a moment who would have had the audacity, before his eyes were drawn to the figure of Stark below, still banging away at those boats. Of course.

“The Monk?”

Stefen huffed, mouth turning up in amusement and nodded.

Huh.

“Well…” Bucky drawled slowly, considering the man as he worked. “Even the crazy get it right every once in a while.”

“Hey Stevie?” Steve grunted in acknowledgment and Bucky turned to him. “What did Stark say to you, that day at breakfast?”

Steve didn’t answer for a moment, though Bucky could tell Steve didn’t need him to explain. After a long pause Steve got the words out, slow and a bit hesitant.

“He told me… that I didn’t need to apologize.”

Bucky blinked. The war had riddled Steve’s mind so full of holes that he’d nearly murdered Stark, and he _didn’t_ need to apologize? Anybody sane would be ringing up to have the man committed.

“And what did you say to that?”

Steve answer came quickly, his voice firm and certain as pavement.

“That I do.”

“Huh,” Bucky huffed quietly turning once more to watch Stark as he worked.

The man was either truly mad, or up to something. Bucky was determined to figure out which.

 

End Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: The Rogers family + one Stark go camping and learn lots about nature, boats, and swimming. Tony might not be the best spy but he's pretty sure Steve's an even worse Nazi. Also those mushy feelings just get mushier. Which is sort of a big problem because Natacha's a better Nazi than her father and Frau Werner is coming to tea.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Rogers family goes camping and Steve's grinchy little heart gets a size upgrade (or seven). Tony rethinks the wisdom of swimming in their underthings when one of them could be a Greek god, and Bucky, well Tony doesn't know what to make of Bucky yet. Tony might be in trouble in the heart department, but he might not have long to live either so there's that. Always that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So good news and bad news. 
> 
> There was so much ground we had to cover between Steve coming home and Steve leaving again that we've written A LOT and you'll be getting another chapter shortly. The bad news is this is long. Sorry?

“You’ll remember to be careful Herr Stark, and that Natacha must not over exert herself.”

“Yes, yes, I will bring the girl back in one piece,” Tony waved away Pepper’s concern. She, Herr Hogan and one of the house maids had come down to the dock in order to assist Tony and the children in their final preparations and see them off on their excursion. The housekeeper had been a big help wrangling together their supplies, getting the boats packed, and organizing the children but now that there was nothing left to do but set sail, as it were, she was wringing her hands fretfully.

“Her meeting with Frauline Werner is the day after. Perhaps we should postpone – ”

“No, no canceling the excursion,” Tony smoothly interjected, handing Maria carefully off to Bakhuizen, standing in the boat, and watching until she was safely settled. She clutched onto the edge in a white knuckled grip, casting big round fearful eyes up at Tony still standing on the dock and he smiled encouragingly at her. She relaxed some when Tony handed Artur down and he plopped into the seat next to her.

He, unlike his sister, couldn’t have been more excited to be in the boat. He jumped up and down in his seat, standing suddenly, eager to watch Ian and Natacha boarding the small one person rowboats Tony had built for them (because apparently when the Rogers’ had purchased their home on the lake and procured a pair of dusty old row boats for their family they’d not foreseen just how fruitful their union would become).

Artur sent the whole boat rocking, which had Maria making small panicked noises and clinging desperately to the edge once more.

“Hey, hey, Artur relax or we’ll all be going for a swim.” Bakhuizen warned even as Tony sharply whistled for the boy’s attention and gestured for him to sit.

The little boy slunk back into his seat.

“Sorry Tony.” he mumbled past the fingers in his mouth.

“Tony?” Maria called, fright making her voice thin. “Are we going to go in the water?”

“We’re going to stay nice and dry in this boat for a while yet bambina, but perhaps later, it would be good for all of you to learn to swim.” Tony said, the memory of Artur striding into the water after his frog rising fresh to his memory. Yes… children could not be watched every minute. Living this close to the water it would be a wise thing to teach them.

“Some of us know how to swim,” Natacha volunteered from her boat and Tony glanced at her, curious. She elaborated with a small shrug. “We used to swim in the summer when our mother was alive.”

Tony nodded, saying nothing, thinking that was the first time he’d ever heard Natacha voluntarily speak on their mother.

“Yes, Frau Rogers was very fond of the outdoors.” Pepper remembered, certain fondness creeping into her tone that kept Tony feeling subdued. “Ian and James might remember something of how it’s done but the little ones… I’m afraid it has been some time since we’ve had time for swimming.”

Yes, Tony was sure they hadn’t. Three years to be exact. Sara hadn’t even been a year old the summer the fever had taken her mother, and Maria and Artur would still have been very young the summer before. But Tony could well imagine it: hazey summer days filled with sweet mountain air, the entire family down by the lake, sun bleaching their hair gold, Stefen holding one of his little ones in sure arms while they splashed about in the water…

Tony blinked the little day dream away, along with the strange pang of longing that accompanied it, because there was no getting back what had been. Only moving forward.

“Well then we’ll have to make the time. Won’t we?” he announced, to the cheers of all except Maria who looked extremely worried by this.

“Don’t you think you should be asking their father first?” A voice called out over the excited young voices and they all went silent turning to watch as the Captain approached them. Tony’s eyebrows shot up, because after how vehemently against the whole affair Stefen had been to begin with, it had not surprised Tony any that he hadn’t come with Pepper to see them off.

But, not only was he coming, the captain was dressed more casually than Tony had ever seen him in plain trousers and a white shirt and a pair of sturdy hiking boots.

“Father’s coming!” Artur shrieked before Tony could even dare to ask it, and something tight in Tony’s chest suddenly unclenched when Stefen nodded shortly, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

But he was here… and that was such a miracle, Tony barely knew what to do with himself.

“Captain Rogers, I think your children are overdue for a swimming lesson” he finally settled on and Stefen’s mouth twitched.

“I agree Herr Stark.” Stefen glanced down at the four boats bobbing about in the water and frowned. “Is there room?”

“Here, Father,” Péter stood eagerly, rocking the boat he sat in with Sara. Tony quickly went to take the little girl from his arms and help Péter back up onto the dock. “You can take my spot and help Tony row. Ian can ride in the boat with you guys, since he’s smaller, and I’ll take the small boat.”

Despite the struggle it had been to organize them the first go around not a word of protest was given to this plan. Ian abandoned the one-man boat in favor of switching with Péter without so much as a word of complaint and James didn’t even revitalize his complaint that Ian had been thought old enough to handle the one-man boat on his own.

They were switched around and resettled within minutes, Tony the last to board after handing little Sara into her father’s arms and watching as Stefen secured her. There was such an air of eager anticipation brimming within the group that Tony could not help but grin, his body thrumming with new energy.

“Glad you could join us Stevie,” Bakhuizen called from the neighboring boat, slapping the oars against the water playfully so that Artur and James giggled and shrieked as water rained down on them. Maria, less enthused by this game wiggled closer to her uncle and out of the line of fire.

“Just don’t drown yourselves.” Stefen called back in warning and Tony laughed.

“That’s the spirit. And if everybody’s here and accounted for, I say we’re off.”

Tony grasped ahold of both oars and began to paddle the little boat out into the open water, Bakhuizen following behind them. Stefen kept a close eye on Péter and Natacha in the single boats until he was satisfied they had a good handle on the oars and knew something of what they were about.

There was lots of giggling and splashing as they acquainted themselves with steering the small crafts, Tony shouting out instructions over the ruckus as Pepper and Harrold waved from the dock and generally laughed at the ridiculous picture they all must have made.

Somehow they got the hang of it and managed to be on their way. And as the Roger’s family (plus one Stark) rowed steadily across the lake toward the dark green of the forest with the mountains rising above them, a wide smile split across Tony’s face.

~*~~*~

They traveled father over the water than Steve would have liked. Stark had worked up a sweat rowing three of them so far all by himself but he’d shook his head when Steve had offered to take his place. No sense in both of them getting sweaty he'd said. But his eyes which had flickered over Sara - who was slapping the arm Steve had around her waist happily - were rather telling.

It was irritating, was what it was. For Christ sake. Steve loved his children. More than anything. More than his own life. He really could do without Bucky's chastising and Starks constant pushing and prodding.

He was here wasn’t he? Bobbing about in rowboat across the lake to go camping, of all things, when by rights there were a million other things he should be doing to keep them all safe.

He squeezed Sara closer and tried to ignore the feeling of uselessness that was washing over him.

Christ. What was he complaining about really? Forced to simple sit with his daughter in his lap and already his skin was crawling. If Stark would just let him row he would have something to do, a purpose to fulfil.

Steve couldn't seem to focus, the children's chatter flitting over him as they cut through the water in their boats.

“Cap?” Stark was watching him, that eyebrow of his arched in question. He had quite an expressive face, their monk.

And Steve did suppose that after what he’d done to the man, what stark was willing to forgive him, he was well and truly _their_ monk.

A swell of guilt rose in his chest. God, he hoped that Stark really had meant his forgiveness. He didn’t like to think about would might happen if he hadn't.

“Where did you go, Cap?”

At the sound of Stark’s voice Steve shook his head and straightened his spine, gathering himself. He managed a feeble smile.

 _I’m here_ . He thought. And then thought it again. _I’m here. I’m here._

“I’m here.” He said once more aloud, “what were you saying?”

Stark chuckled at the phrasing and Steve shifted, restless under his gaze.

Stark had a way about him that Steve struggled to put words to. He might call it star quality but that seemed silly. Stark had chosen to be a monk after all. His clothing was understated, his manners polished, but nothing about the man himself could be as easily summarized.

Steve could see the effort Stark was putting into keeping the conversation going. Not for lack of topic but Steve's sluggish delays in answering.

He couldn't help himself. He was so out of sorts. What was wrong with him? It was just a boat ride and yet he felt too large for the vessel, swollen and stiff.

So he didn’t try to keep up with any of the conversations and watched them all instead, trying to memorize the twerk of Péter's body as he turned to tease his sister, the way Artur and James looked as they tried to lean over the sides of the boats.

He was going to leave them, Steve realized. He just didn't know how to.

Now they had Stark of course, and there was always Bucky who would keep a watchful eye on them when he could.

If he could.

Thoughts of the resistance and Janneke slickered at the edges of his mind. Bucky’s self-preservation instinct was strong but, to Steve's horror, his loyalty to Steve had always proved stronger. Bucky might leave them too in the end.

He sighed, rubbing Sara’s hand with the tips of his fingers. He’d find a way to make sure they’d be taken care of, and at least there was Stark. They’d be in good hands.

They finally headed ashore what felt to Steve like hours later, dragging the boats up onto a small grassy stretch of bank and tying them to a pair of thick nails that Bucky helped him drive into the ground. Steve was glad to hand Sara off to Natacha in favor of unloading boxes of supplies and shouldering sacks and back packs on his back, as Tony led them into the trees in search of a proper place to make camp, lecturing the entire way about the local wildlife and what kinds of plants could be found in these mountains.

They found a spot to make camp not too far from the lakes edge (because, as he instructed the children, they should always stick close to a water source) and spent a good hour and a half after that struggling to erect their tents because Tony insisted on letting the children help and using it as an opportunity for another lesson.

Apparently one never knew when they’d have to set up a tent.

When they had four ramshackle tents set up and sleeping rolls at the ready James just couldn’t seem to take it anymore and demanded to know when they could race their boats.

Tony made them stop to eat the sandwiches that Willamina had packed first and Steve’s growling stomach was grateful.

He was happy to sit back and watch as Tony took the children down to the water and let them try out their steam boats.

This was just fine he thought. This was not nearly as overwhelming as he’d first found it to be. Simple really. Almost nice to be out in the fresh air sitting on the bank, watching the children play.

But then of course the children got tired of just watching their boats in the water, Bucky and Tony occasionally striding in to fetch a wayward vessel, and someone remembered Tony promising they could swim.

And Stark, damn him, would simply not leave him in peace.

~*~~*~

“We can’t swim in our clothes, so how do you suggest we go about this?” Tony was asking.

“I can swim naked!” Artur shrieked, his eyes wide and glowing with excitement. The smaller children shuffled together giggling.

“Your underclothes, Artur.” Steve corrected, helping pull Artur’s shirt up over his head after a moment of watching him struggle. He discarded it in the growing pile with the rest of the children's clothes.

“You can swim in your underclothes. Nobody is getting naked.”

Though he could hardly blame the boy for jumping to that conclusion. Swim clothes had certainly been overlooked when the packing had been done. He paused, Artur wobbling on one leg, and Steve knelt to help him out of his shorts.

Come to think of it Steve wasn't sure the younger children had any swim clothes that still fit.

He'd not taken them on a swim since before he'd contracted the fever. That summer had been unusually cold and Peggy had been having trouble with the pregnancy.

Of course Artur could always use James old clothes but then again, James hated to share.

Steve looked over at James who was leaning on Bucky rather rudely (why did Bucky let him do that?) watching the others undress with very little interest in leaving his uncle's side.

Steve frowned deeply in thought as the memories slowly trickled through his mind. They'd only taken James a few times that he could remember. He’d still been so small that Virginia had spent most of her time with him and Ian on the shore. Maria had been the baby then, tucked safely in her crib at the house watched over by the nurse maid.

Péter’s voice suddenly loud in his ears pulled him from the old memories.

The boy had already striped down and was helping Maria out of her clothes, chattering to her about being a mermaid. She looked less than impressed with this.

He smiled inwardly. If she was anything like Peggy she would not find this endeavor enjoyable.

Peggy could swim, was a strong swimmer in fact, but she’d always preferred to be on the shore where it was dry and comfortable. Not that she’d ever let a little thing like discomfort stop her. She was always first one in when Péter and Natacha wished to play, and last one out when Stefen didn’t feel like letting her go.

Stefen did not know when he’d begun to smile but he knew when he felt the smile bleeding away.

Peggy’s mother had always found the idea of swimming common and upon learning that her daughter had taken it up, had declared it only more proof that Margrit had married beneath herself and bred a gaggle of ‘common little tramps’.

Except for Tacha. Steve grit his teeth. They still wrote after her.

He supposed being the oldest girl and reminding them the most of Margrit she was acceptable to them.

“Bambina. Your dress has to come off!”

Stefen’s eyes flew to find Stark who was holding a cackling Sara upside down, holding her by her two chubby legs and shaking her gently like a sack of flour.

The children really had taken to him.

It was good. He was glad. The children would need him.

“That's what I ought to have done. Threaten death.” He heard Bucky mutter, watching Stark with Sara.

Bucky had tried his hardest to help Sara get undressed but to both their surprise she’d become resistant and then something bordering on frightened.

It struck Steve then that she’d only been a baby when Bucky had left for Budapest. She had no real memories of him besides the stories he and her older siblings would tell. A fault, he thought with a cringe, that was as much his own as it was Bucky’s.

She’d eventually scuttled away from him to hide and peer at him from behind Starks legs. She’d ignored all of Bucky’s sweet pleading, clinging close too Stark and shooting him distrustful looks when she thought he wasn't looking.

Bucky had grumbled something about Rogers and their stubbornness while Steve had tried not to laugh. Stark had just looked smug.

James shrugged and wrapped his arms tightly around Bucky's midsection as if to make up for the words even as he said them, “No, she just likes Tony more!”

Beside him Artur held his arms up excitedly.

“I'm done! Father I'm done! Let's go now, please.”

Artur grabbed his arm and began to tug. Steve thought he had a freakishly strong grip for a boy of seven.

He shook his head, looking up at Stark for help.

Stark raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Their conversation on the terrace echoing suddenly in Steve's memory.

“Artur.” Steve tried again through clenched teeth.

“Please, Father, please. Come swimming with me?” Just as quickly Artur decided to change tactics, pressing his little body into Steve's and wrapping his splindly arms around Stefen’s neck, familiar blue eyes pleading up at him.

Steve's heart twinged. His arms moving without his command to wrap his around Artur’s body.

It never ceased to amaze him how small they felt at this age, how fragile.

He opened his mouth but couldn't find the words. He couldn't bring himself to say yes any more than he could say no.

He looked up again, this time with the intent to order Stark into the water with Artur, when Bucky groaned.

“Just get in the damn water with him, zaldat. Stark can't save all seven of them if they drown.”

“I can swim!” Péter protested, sweeping Maria into his arms. Tacha nodded in agreement her expression earnest.

“Yes, we’ll be fine watching them, Father.”

“Nonsense, your father doesn't want to sit around being useless-” Bucky began to interject and Steve barked.

“Buck!”

Bucky snapped his mouth closed and graced him with a blank look. The corner of his lip twitching in what Steve was sure wanted to be a snarl and irritation settled in Steve's stomach. He was not an invalid who needed to be led to water. If he damn well wanted to swim he’d swim and not a moment before!

Fighting for calm, Steve turned his head back to meet Artur’s pleading eyes.

“You can go on ahead with your sister and brother.”

Artur squeezed him all the tighter. “You'll come in the water?”

“Later.”

“How much later?” Artur pouted, expression dubious.

Steve unclasped his son's vice like grip from behind his neck and held Artur's hands in his own.

“I'll swim with you. I promise. Bucky and I just have to finish setting up camp first.”

Artur eyed him cautiously and Steve ruffled his hair, unnerved by his sons stare and the surge of emotions he felt, and stood.

“Get in the water, Artry.”

Artur beamed up at him even as Steve felt his stomach lurch.

Artry? That had been Peggy's pet name for him. No one had used it in years. Steve certainly hadn’t meant to. It had just slipped out.

He didn't know where to look and feeling unbalanced he looked up at Stark once more, willing him wordlessly to take over. _Please._

He was jittery like he’d just come off a patrol and his heart felt two sizes two big in his chest.

But Stark was busy stripping Sara who was giggling and trying to put her clothes back on as just hastily as Stark was stripping her just because she thought it was funny.

He swallowed thickly and motioned towards the water once more.

“Go on with Péter. I’ll be back.”

~*~*~*~

Despite the fear she’d shown on the dock Maria was not the most difficult child to teach the fine sport of swimming. That dubious honor (unexpectedly) went to Sara.

Ian, who stood on the bank quenching his toes and hugging his arms to his chest, watched as Tony struggled to hold onto the wriggling girl. He'd forgotten how much like bars of soap children were when wet.

“Come on bambina. There you go, just...” An arm thwacked him and her head ducked underwater momentarily. When Tony lifted her up a quick moment later she spluttered and clutched at him, kicking her legs wildly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized. “You’ve got to keep your head up, bambina.”

Instead of crying like Sara (who had shrieked and climbed up Tony's body, practically perching on his head to avoid being submerged) Maria had wrinkled her little nose and jumped into the water full throttle, as if she’d decided the best way to tackle her fear was to literally tackle it. To Maria’s own surprise (not to mention Tony’s) once in it she _loved_ the water. She just wasn’t any good at the swimming part yet.

The little girl who cried at dirt on her dress seemed far away now as she thrashed ungracefully in the water, smiling big and bright as water dripped into her mouth.

He was grateful. He'd been worried she might remember the unorthodox way Artur had tried to teach her about the importance of friends.

Flopping back and forth between Tony and Péter in some approximation of swimming, she seemed just fine. Better even than he had ever seen her. All the children were, Tony thought with satisfaction as he cast his gaze around. Except…

Tony glanced up and caught Ian's eye.

What was he doing still on shore? Nearly everyone else, save Bucky, Sara and Cap, was enjoying the water.

Péter had swum a few yards away to “catch” artifacts with Artur who was splashing about in the shallows looking for treasures, while Tacha was trying bravely to coax Sara back in the water.

The toddler was enjoying another game of keep away, creeping close only to rush out of arms reach before Natacha could actually get a firm grip on her. Until finally, done with the game, Tacha snatched her up and marched her back toward the bank so that the shrieks could begin anew. Grinning, Tony turned back to Ian.

“Ian. Are you going to stand there all day or help me hold this salmon I found?”

In the water Maria wriggled harder, tugging on Tony's arms to be lifted higher.

He hoisted her up and out of the water and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She clutched at his shoulders, rubery fingers digging into his skin and just when he was admiring the water beading in her eyelashes and the glint of happiness in her eyes, she sneezed lake water into his face.

Oh disgusting. Disgusting child.

Tony almost dropped her he held her at arm's length so fast, wrinkling his face. She sneezed again only this time he could hear a distinct giggle in the gurgling. She was grinning, or so he thought. It was hard to tell with her stringy wet curls obstructing her face.

Tony turned back to Ian, intending to tease him some more when he caught a real look at the expression on the boy’s face.

It was tight and contemplative, fear mixed with something else, something he was clearly warring heavily with if the tense set of his shoulders was anything to go by.

“Ian?”

On the bank Ian turned but it was not to answer Tony's call.

Cap and Bakhuizen had ambled into view followed closely by James (who had opted to delay swimming in order to shadow his uncle) both with large armfuls of dry branches in their arms.

James called out Ian’s name again, frowning and chewing on something (Tony could almost hear the smacking from where he was) regarding his brother thoughtfully. Ian clenched his lips tightly but did not answer his brother’s calls either.

Tony placed Maria carefully back into the water, even in the shallows the water reached to her waist (there was one Rogers who had not inherited Caps height) and watched the interaction.

“Ian,” he called out after a moment. “What's wrong patatino?”

Ian's head whipped back around to meet Tony’s eyes with a startled expression. He blushed a humiliated red, ducking his head and trying to appear as small as possible.

James dropped his armful of wood, either not seeing or ignoring altogether his father's vague look of disapproval, and trotted over to Ian.

The sight of both boys stood with their heads bent together gave them all pause. This could either be very good or very bad. In the short months Tony had been with the Rogers family he had yet to see them visibly collaborate together. Hell with those two even begrudging cooperation was a struggle.

After a moment of traded whispers James looked up and glanced back towards the captain and Bakhuizen who had piled the wood in front of the tents begun the process of digging a pit for the fire.

Cap was kneeling, trowel in hand, his back to Tony and the children.

Right then.

Tony lifted Maria up and headed toward the boys on the bank.

“No, I’m not done. Tony, I'm not done!” the little girl insisted petulantly as he set her on dry ground.

“Alright, alright, bambina I hear you. Why don’t you go play with your sisters?” He waved in Natacha and Sara's general direction.

Maria opened her mouth to protest but was distracted by a sudden shriek from Artur. Tony looked over that way, just to be sure no one was drowning, to find Artur gesturing wildly with excitement. Péter could be heard telling him to hold whatever it was he had gripped in his hands still.

Maria’s eyes grew around with curiosity and she looked up at Tony.

He winked at her.

“Go on. Make sure you save it for our next lesson.”

She nodded eagerly and scampered off towards the excitement and Tony watched her fondly for a moment before he turned his attention back to the boys.

“Alright, you've not been in the water all afternoon.” He said giving them another look over.

It was true. Ian had stayed on the bank hovering around his father like a moth to flame as the captain had gone about his work, mostly ignoring the boy’s presence. Only once had Ian ventured away from him to have a look at some interesting rocks that Péter and Artur had dragged up out of the lake.

The captain had noticed. Tony had watched as his blue eyes had followed his son's ghost like wanderings, but Stefen had still not said anything. Waiting for…waiting for what? Permission? He was the boy's father for god’s sake. Why didn’t he just _try_.

In his father’s shadow, Ian’s mood had dropped lower and lower after the boat race. His continence becoming unusually despondent and moody until he was acting far more like James than he was his usual self.

Ian squinted into the fading sun not meeting Tony’s eye.

“Are you done swimming?”

The question looked like it had physically pained him.

What was eating at him? Tony wondered and James seemed to be wondering the same, openly eyeing his brother who was staring off toward the camp.

Tony followed Ian’s gaze. The captain was kneeling over the fire pit, setting stones about the rim, seemingly in deep conversation with Bakhuizen who was holding an armful of them, handing them off when Stefen gestured for them.

Even from Tony's vantage point he could see the small smile playing at the captain's mouth as he spoke to his longtime friend. It wasn’t the first one Tony had caught but it was still strange seeing the man smile.

Tony suspected that in this one afternoon alone he had done thrice his monthly quota of smiling.

Six times. At least in Tony's presence.

All of the promotional photos published of the man after the Great War had been serious, elegant, things. Designed to inspire, and soldiers certainly didn't smile for press photos, so maybe with how he’d been held up in front of the public eye smiles had just stopped coming naturally to him.

It was a shame. Tony quite liked his smile.

“Uncle Bucky said to ask you.” James’ voice intruded on his thoughts.

Huh? Tony blinked, embarrassed that he’d almost forgotten Ian’s presence as he pulled his eyes away from the captain.

“I’m sorry, ask me to do what?”

He sighed heavily at James deadpan expression. It wasn't so much irritating that he'd been caught not listening but rather the reason why.

“To swim. I want to learn how to swim!”

“You can swim.”

Tony turned away, started up towards the camp site. His limbs were tired from lifting little ones up and out of the water, from the hike and general wear and tear of keeping up with seven highly intelligent not to mention headstrong children.

“Nooooooooo” James whined, the sound scraping across Tony's nerves. “Tony I can't.”

At least the whine had been on pitch. After Péter had said that their parents used to swim with them he’d expected that he and Natacha would prove sufficient swimmers and they were, both splashing into the water with the sloppy confidence of youth.

Tony had expected the younger ones to be lacking and there had been no surprises there. Sara was still perfecting regular motor skills after all. Ian and James had seemed eager enough at the idea when it had initially been voiced so Tony had assumed that James had stayed on shore in order to replace his uncle's shadow.

But on further thought, Pepper had said it had been a few years since the family had indulged, even before Frau Rogers had passed.

So it had been what four, five years maybe? Tony’s mind quickly did the math. James might only have been three or four the last time he got in the water and Ian not much older than James was now. Seven or eight.

Suddenly Ian’s strange mood took on a whole new light in his mind. Of all his siblings Ian was the most careful, not because he wasn’t as brave or daring but because it mattered to him to do things _right;_ because he saw that as his responsibility. He took careful notes on all their lessons, he was the first to notice if the little girl’s shoes came untied and the first to stoop down and help them with them.

He stubbornly gave James the food off his plate and tried desperately hard to be a good big brother to him despite the little boy’s bitter resentment of his efforts. He took the fall for James’ tantrums and protected Péter even when the last thing Péter wanted was to be reminded of his own limitations.

The shelves near his bed were laden with books and they were the first thing he went to in leisure time. What he daydreamed about he kept to himself.

When the captain was gone (and when wasn’t he gone?) Péter was the man of the house but Ian volunteered to have his back.

Stefen had said he’d never doubted that, and why would he? Ian was his best little soldier and soldiers didn’t get scared. The captain certainly never got scared where Ian could see.

A little thing like swimming should be easy and if it wasn’t… well Tony suspected Ian would rather be sliced open than have his father look at him and see a little boy scared in need of help.

Having realized this Tony knew something must be done but he was equally sure it must be done careful. The Rogers were as prideful as they were stubborn and if he embarrassed the boy he’d just dig his heels in and that would be the end of it.

But James took the decision out of his hands.

Without any warning he went striding past them, stepping off the bank into the water with an exclamation at the temperature, not even bothering to strip to his underthings.

Thankfully he’d paused to yank off his shoes and socks before he plowed into the water, but the dark blue of his trousers had gone black in the water and Tony prayed his stitching would hold.

Tony watched nervously as James sloshed through the water and it wasn’t long before he was neck deep and struggling like a puppy. A drowning one.

Tony tensed to move just as James called out.

“Help! I don’t want to drown, Tony!” He was struggling now to keep his head above water and Tony cursed under his breath, jumping in after him.

What in god’s name had he been playing at? Tony had been in the water teaching the others for at least an hour and James had expressed absolutely no interest in joining them.

So what the hell had sent him dashing into the water like that when he clearly knew as much about swimming as a finless guppy?

“James? Tony do you have him?! Tony?” Ian was crouched now on the very edge of the bank, biting his lip anxiously as Tony cut through the water towards where James was thrashing, unwittingly propelling himself deeper and deeper out.

The sound of him spluttering and coughing carried across the lake.

A few yards away Péter and Artur had paused to watch fearfully and even though he couldn’t pause to look he just knew the captain and Bakhuizen had come running.

Well If James had wanted to get his father’s attention, he certainly had it now.

“Ian!” The boy called out with a terrified tremor just before Tony had reached him and then he slipped under the water.

God damn it! Tony cursed, heart thumping hard in his chest as he dove under after him. James had risked drowning right here in front of his father, in front of Tony’s very eyes and for what?! So that his brother would get in the damn water?

Because that was what it was about Tony realized. It wasn’t about Stefen at all.

James couldn’t just tell Ian to ask for help like a normal person though. No, he had to go jumping into the lake like a damsel in distress, expecting that what? The sight of him drowning would cure Ian of his fears and do something _other_ than traumatize them all?

Foolish, idiot, utterly insane (wonderful) boy! Tony cursed as he grabbed ahold of the moving body in the water. It was hard to see even in relatively clear (for a lake anyway) waters what with the streams of bubbles they were rucking up, but he felt James slip his arms around his neck, his fingers grasping to find purchase. The combination of his struggles and the sudden addition of his weight dragging them both further under.

Tony hit the bottom of the lake bed, silt clouding up around them, but since he wasn’t a panicking child he was able to keep his wits about him.

He pushed up, propelling them upwards, and they broke the surface a moment later.

He desperately moved his legs while trying to maintain his hold on James, struggling to push them closer toward the bank and get his feet under him. James didn’t make it easy in his panic but Tony managed it, relief washing through him when the water became shallow enough for him to stand on his own two feet again.

Breathing heavily, he shook the water out of his eyes and held James close, his heart jittering in his chest.

“James please, don’t grab my neck so tight.” he pleaded gently after a moment when the boy’s grip threatened to choke him. He rubbed the boys back soothingly as James blinked at him, eyes wide, coughing up dribbles of water.

The crisis averted relief bubbled up through Tony in the form of laughter, though his grip on the boy remained tight.

“You know _bambino_ if you wanted Ian to ever get in the water, giving him the memory of his brother nearly drowning probably wasn’t the way to go.”

James wet coughs actually turned indignant and Tony chuckled, patting his back to make sure there wasn’t any more water he needed to spit up.

As Tony walked them back toward the bank, water lapping at their shoulders, James shivered against his chest.

“Why didn’t he follow?” he asked voice small. He burrowed his head against Tony’s neck.

Submerged in water James felt as if he weighed nothing, his damp hair succumbing to its natural wave. Tony reached up and stroked the dark red waves out of his face and James let him, eyes watching Ian on the shore.

God Stefen was probably going to lose his mind, blame Tony for not watching the children closer or something equally ridiculous considering _he_ was their father and couldn’t be bothered with them for more than five minutes.

Knowing him, he’d probably want to call a halt to the whole trip and if Stefen thought Tony was going to let a minor incident like a child getting himself into a bit of hot water – it was _fine_ , Tony had been right there and it was fine now – Stefen had another think coming.

Looking up to face the music he found that indeed Stefen had made his way down to the bank. He was standing there next to Ian with arms crossed imposingly, but to Tony’s surprise he didn’t seem all that concerned with Tony and James.

He was looking down at Ian, who was looking up at his father with his arms crossed behind his back in what Tony could only classify as parade rest.

Stefen was clearly saying something to the boy, whose shoulders were hunching up nearly to his ears, his face turning red.

Tony felt a little sick, anxious at the sight. He could only hope whatever words the captain was trading with his son wouldn’t have negative repercussions.

So far the record did not look good.

“You were alright, “Tony belatedly answered James’ earlier question, slowly wading closer to the captain and Ian. “He probably thought you were being silly.” And then just for good measure.

“It was silly to do that James. You could have been hurt.”

James tucked his head into Tony’s neck again for a moment mumbling, “he always follows me. It’s irritating.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” James looked up, starting to wriggle as gravity came back into play and the water was low enough for him to stand on his own. “You irritate him too.”

James opened his mouth in indignation.

“I’m not-

“Herr Stark!”

Tony looked up just in time to see Ian slip off the bank, nearly going head first into the water. The boy blushed an even deeper red as he struggled back onto his feet, helped by his father who Tony still couldn’t believe he was actually seeing slip into the water even when they both began wading towards where Tony and James stood.

Tony just stood there, frozen as rain on a mountain top, uneasy as Stefen and Ian approached.

What was happening? Why wasn’t Stefen yelling and behaving like… well not like this!

“Where did you learn to swim like that?” Stefen asked when he and Ian had reached them and it took Tony’s brain way too long for a genius to make sense of the unexpected question.

“Like what? Swimming in a still lake with a child?”

Stefen just rolled his eyes, not quite as dramatic as Natacha could do it but still, wonders never ceased.

“Ships, Cap. Docking empire, I grew up by the sea.” Tony relented, offering as explanation still off balance in the conversation.

Stefen looked down at Ian and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. He could have placed a rock there for the way it made Ian shrink.

“I was just telling Ian that I was about his age when I learned to swim. You wouldn’t mind helping me teach the boys would you?”

Ian stirred back to life and tugged on his father’s arm, insisting with more than a hint of petulance. “I already know how to swim Father.”

Without answering Stefan sank down and began to glide along in the water ahead of them. The white linen of his untucked shirt pooled around him like the skirt of a jelly fish, revealing slips of the pale white skin underneath.

They watched as he turned gracefully in the water and came back toward them, popping back up beside Ian who started, nearly tumbling.

Cap righted him with a chuckle, easily supporting most of his weight.

“You learned from me, who learned from your uncle Buck and he was not a good swimmer to begin with.” Stefan’s smile was soft as he said.

Which really had to be a damn lie, or at least kin to one Tony huffed. If that little display was anything to go by Stefan was just as powerful in the water as he was out.

Tony mentally shook himself, because beautiful creature or not, Rogers was a _Nazi._

“Meanwhile I’m practically Olympic gold at your disposal, Ian really. Have I taught you nothing about being an opportunist?”

Tony waved his free hand trying to encompass the fantastic being that was himself, managing to splash James in the face while he was at it. “You’ll do wonderfully Ian. That is if someone could take this amoeba that’s found a home on me-”

James launched off of Tony before he could finish, nearly throwing Tony backwards as he landed in the water with a great splash. He reemerged spluttering and reaching for his father who obliged by scooped him up.

Tony was almost glad after all the weirdness to see the return of the Captain’s unsure expression. He held James at arm’s length (like he might be dangerous) but James held onto the captain’s muscular arms and kicked his legs experimentally, inspecting his legs in the water with interest.

Held so close to his father he looked tiny Tony thought. He hardly looked his eight years at all.

“Are you alright?” Tony heard Stefen ask quietly and James just nodded, apparently no longer as concerned with the incident where he could have drowned as he was with testing out his swimmers legs.

Stefan held him in a sturdy grip but it was so clear he was out of his depth, Tony’s lips tugged into a smile. The man was hopeless.

Glancing over at Ian, who was swishing his hands in the water and trying his best to avoid looking at Tony or his father (as if they might forget he was there and escape the lesson) Tony couldn’t help but feel that might just be a Rogers family trait.

Hopelessly out of their depth and too stubborn to ask for help.

With a smile Tony slung his arm around Ian's shoulders.

It was just too bad for the Rogers that it was a Stark family trait to poke, prod, and tweak. Especially when no one had asked for it.

 

~*~*~

 

Once resigned to the fact that he couldn’t escape it Ian took to his lesson with single minded vigor, determined to abolish the discomfort of finding himself in an arena where he wasn’t capable (where he couldn’t _help_ ) as quickly as possible.

Stefan was holding Ian up by his belly, helping him to correct his form. And his father’s presence and sure touch seemed to give him confidence – bolstering that single minded drive. Even while Tony and his father struggled keep James afloat Ian paddled back and forth, back and forth, face screwed up in concentration.

James on the other hand still hadn’t managed to master the doggy paddle and it was completely from lack of trying. He was happy with their attention and being held up in their arms. Tony suspected actually learning to swim on his own would be counterproductive to that.

Even now he was latched on to his father’s shoulders and drifting along behind him like a king’s robe, smile wide as anything.

With a somewhat exasperated look Stefen had glanced at Tony and gestured toward where the other children were playing with Bakhuizen in the shallower water.

“I think I’ll take this one where he’s not in danger of drowning himself.”

He left Tony and Ian then, his human scarf trailing behind. Ian had not seemed bothered by his departure, concentrating hard as he was on his tasked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Tony didn’t know how long he watched him until a sharp squeal from Artur pulled his attention away.

He and James were clamoring around their father, splashing as they fought, almost viciously, for the place of honor on his shoulders. Stefen appeared to be largely ignoring the pulling and tugging around his neck, focused as he was with watching Maria paddle her way between him and Bakhuizen, proud as punch with her own progress. Their voices drifted over the water toward Tony and Ian and Tony smiled.

“Hey Ian, patatino, let’s take a break.”

He’d not meant it as a suggestion, but Ian had raised his head from the water, blinked at him breathing heavily through his mouth, and then sank back under. His shimmery little body slowly swimming away from Tony beneath the water.

All right then. More laps.

James let out a sharp shriek and Tony whipped around, muscles already tensed for a dive, just in time to see James landing in his father's arms with a grunt of laughter, water spraying everywhere.

Tony couldn’t distinguish exactly what the others were saying but Tony was sure Arturs shrieked demands to be next could be heard from the house.

There was some shuffling and then Artur was being lifted in his father’s arms and then with a flex of muscle and a push the boy was airborne, momentarily appearing weightless in the sky before gravity kicked in and he plumped back into strong arms and the soft cradle of water. He looked elated with the experience, like he’d just achieved space flight.

Tony wasn't sure if the ache in his heart was from hope or fear. Perhaps it was both.

Artur was like a puppy, quick emotions and easily forgiven slights, but he was still a child, still a little boy who’d not had a father for quite a while. Even though Tony knew it wasn’t true, it was as if the children had completely forgotten the man from this morning. The distant man who couldn’t be bothered to pay them any mind let alone notice when they were hurting.

Tony wouldn’t deny them the forgiving nature of youth but privately, he wished he could afford the same luxury.

As he watched Stefen tossing Artur once more, the boys limbs splaying out like a starfish, he couldn't help but wonder if Stefen had forgotten too. He watched them as they played, Stefen’s bright hair stained a golden brown from the water. Every once and awhile, when the children had become distracted by some new trick or game, he would swim a little distance.

Tony watched those powerful arms as they rose and fell in quick breast stroke, watched his strong back supporting James, Artur or whichever child had won his attention that moment. He watched and watched, stomach tightening with a strange discomfort.

Some unknowable point later Stefen made noise that might have been about getting out of the water but James demanded to come with. Stefen obliged and after wading a ways turned track, effortlessly lifted himself out of the water and Tony caught his breath.

Oh this this had been a terrible idea.

He was suddenly without a shadow of a doubt, that this had been the single worst miscalculation of his life. Because there Stefen was standing waist deep, water streaming down face and neck to run over the dips and curves of his chest.

Oh sure, let's all swim around in our underthings. And he called himself a genius!

Tony inched backward, as if to put greater distance between him and sight as Stefan hitched his son’s legs around his waist, his stomach flexing with the added pressure, water clogged shirt clinging to him like a second skin.

Tony’s mouth went dry.

The pair was moving now, heading towards Tony and Ian and Tony couldn't help the feeling that he was being prowled upon as Stefen’s gaze fixed upon him.

It was all in his head of course, but for decorum’s sake he could have done without the image.

Tony swallowed, trying his hardest to keep his voice under control as he turned to Ian.

“Are we ready to get out now?” he asked hopefully. Avoidance worked really well in most situations too. Poseidon reincarnated including. James heard him though and immediately began to protest.

“No! Father I’m not ready. We’re not been in the water long at all.” James tightened his legs around his Father’s waist, wriggling desperately.

“You know you could try swimming yourself. It was a lesson after all.” Stefen said, but there was no heat behind the words.

James shook his head and tucked his face into his father’s shoulder blades. Tony could still see the smirk though as he replied, “I like it up here on you.”

Tony couldn’t fault the boy’s logic. He rather thought he would to.

On his return lap Ian squeaked, his head dipping under the water as his strokes faltered. Tony caught him under the arms and helped steady him.

“Ian, come on, you ought to rest.” Tony tried to keep his voice gentle but he was quickly losing patience. What was it about the Rogers that made them act like mules? You couldn't perfect anything in a day.

Well, unless you were him but thankfully Tony Stark was one of a kind.

“You don’t have to stay in with me, you can go back. I can manage.” Ian insisted, his head dipping under again.

“Take him please.” Stefen’s voice said next to his ear and Tony jumped, blinking in surprise as James was dropped into his arms. They looked at each other, both a little confused before Stefen said, with head cocking to the side. “Or you could put some real effort in and learn to swim.”

James tightened his arm around Tony like a vice.

Tony pretended to choke.

“Help, Cap. I’m being strangled by a sloth.”

“A what?” but before Tony could explain what a sloth was, Stefen had moved behind Ian and gently scooped him up from under the arms. The boy stiffened unsure of what was happening and Tony watched nervously, unsure either.

“Well done, Ian. Do you want to learn to float now?” Stefen murmured lowly, one arm rested around Ian's stomach holding him to his chest. “When you're tired it's a good way to rest without having to leave the water.”

Ian looked up at him still nervous but curious now and Stefen lifted a brow, the corner of his mouth turning up in a small but genuine smile.

Ian nodded his agreement, the tension leaving his body like a breath of air as he reminded them all, “I’m not done yet.”

Stefen chuckled lowly.

“No, never. Lean your head back on my shoulder” he instructed, drawing them out a little further into the lake. Ian did so, swishing himself into a plank as Stefen supported his lower body.

And slowly Ian began to float, his body relaxing into his fathers with trust as Stefen captained his drifting.

They were a picture. With their faces so close it was hard not for Tony to map out their similarities, brain putting angles and distances in categories.

The curves of Ian’s boyish face technically favored his mother, and normally Tony lived by the numbers, but watching him now – that soft trusting look in the blue of his eyes, the way they roamed over his father’s face as if he was memorizing every last inch the same way Tony was, before shutting them, his spiky eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks – Tony could not deny the true resemblance. Ian was his father’s son. For better and for worse.

 

~*~*~

 

Floating in Steve’s arms Ian closed his eyes. The next step was to push his head away until Ian was in front of him and was floating on his own. But Steve found himself lingering.

He brushed a stray strand of hair out of his son's eyes and let his head rest against Ian’s.

He couldn’t bring himself to let go.

He glanced up, looking for Stark and found him retreating back to the shore with James, his head bent close with the boys and saying something too low for Steve to make out.

Steve couldn't bring himself to peak any interest in following them. Ian had gone soft in his arms and whether that was from trust in the water or trust in Steve’s ability to hold him he didn’t really care.

The need to latch onto it, to hold Ian as tightly as he could, was as fierce as it was unexpected. Under the water his fingers skimmed over the knobs of the boy’s spine, propping him up in the water.

He used to trace his spine like this when he was little, resting on his mother chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it.

There was a smattering of freckles on his back, Stefen remembered, just across his shoulder blades. He used to draw them too, when Ian was a baby – used to sit with his wife, fingers mapping blemishes and tracing the delicate line of his child’s back as he tried to capture the beauty of a moment gone too quickly. Stolen too easily.

Stefen swallowed, throat tight. He wondered if the freckles were still there. He wondered why he didn’t know.

He used to sing to him too. Little diddies remembered from boyhood. Songs in the language of his people and songs picked up in the language of the Croats, the Polish, the Germans, songs he hardly knew the meaning of but understood to be gifts when they’d been imparted with him.

He let a hand ghost over Ian’s chest, sliding over skin that was familiar in sight but so long untouched that it felt new, until he reached the boy’s sides.

Ian gave a tiny giggle at the ticklish touch, holding on to Steve’s forearm with one hand. His eyes still closed in a look of contentment.

So they floated.

He wasn't sure how long they floated because the sun could have risen and set without him noticing.

And then a hand snuck into his blurred line of vision and Steve started. He looked up and right into Starks soft brown eyes.

Stark was watching him, his gaze quiet and intent. Steve felt a shudder run through him.

He felt drugged. Slow and sluggish as he looked back down at his son who had opened his eyes to stare back at him, saying nothing, trusting.

And Stark just kept looking at him with those eyes of his, seeing too much. When he extended his hands Stefen understood what he wanted, but it wasn’t any easier to let go.

“Father?” Ian asked, uncertain, and Stefen tightened his grip. Pleading with Stark silently as if the Angel of Death had appeared on the bank to demand he hand over his son. And he didn’t know how, but he could see it in Stark’s eyes that he understood. He knew.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”

And Stefen could never really be sure after that which of them he was reassuring, Stefen or Ian, but the words washed over him and holding the man’s gaze he gently pushed Ian away, watching as the boy gently drifted into the monks waiting arms.

~*~*~*~~

The sun dipping low in the sky and the rumbling of hungry stomachs was finally enough to convince the Rogers children to abandon the water entirely. Tony was partly grateful for it because after so many hours in the cool water of the lake even his over eager libido had flagged.

He trudged back up to the campsite behind the others, keeping an eye on the rear of the line for any small bodies that might stumble or otherwise deviate from their path, sternly keeping his eyes off of the captain’s rear (even if it was beautifully sculpted and splendidly presented in his soaked trousers).

"I'm hungry." Artur announced upon reaching camp with a halfhearted pout. The expression was wholly unconvincing considering his kingly perch upon his father's wide shoulders and the smile that wouldn't leave his eyes.

"Uh-oh, better catch us some food then." Bakhuizen teased as he passed them, on his way to procure dry clothing. Stefen wasn't the only one blessed with a fine figure Tony noted abstractly.

Pure scientific observation. Anyone would have noticed it, and it wasn't strange at all that Tony wanted to definitively prove his certainty that Stefen's was finer as fact and not preference.

His hands were itching to measure the exact breadth of those shoulders, compare the ratio from shoulder to waist- let his hands touch all that wet sun bronzed skin and memorize every last inch of it.

Good lord. Tony snorted quietly under his breath as he rooted around in his bags for his spare set of clothes.

He wasn't even fooling himself anymore. He'd been celibate too long if something as simple as going for a swim with another man was getting him this worked up.

Tony walked just beyond the ring of trees encircling their campsite in search of privacy and a moment to himself.

Then, clothing changed and wet things hung to dry Tony wandered back to the camp and busied himself going through the rest of the supplies in order to begin the prep for supper, doing his best to drown the others out.

He needed to get a handle on himself, and quickly at that.

"Well what am I supposed to catch?" Artur was squinting at his uncle with disbelief. "I’ve never caught food."

"Well that's a shame," Bakhuizen scoffed. "Your Da and I were catching rabbits when we were smaller than you. Hey Stark, did Willamina pack us any vegetables? "

"Is she Austrian?" Tony replied without turning around. "Turnips, onions, carrots. We won’t go hungry."

"What do you think Buck, rabbit stew?" Tony was surprised to hear Stefen offer. He couldn’t resist turning slightly to look back at the captain with a raised brow.

"Not that I doubt your hunting abilities, but Willaminia did provide us with enough for a decent meal. We're not quite reduced to scavenging in the brush."

"I'd like to hunt rabbits. I think it sounds fun." Said Natacha, from over by the pit that Bakhuizen had dug for the fire. She was still patting her hair dry but looked up long enough to smirk in Tony's direction. "You never know when such a skill might come in handy."

"Tacha’s right!" Bakhuizen clapped his hands together eagerly. "James, stop teasing Ian and come help me look for twigs for the snares."

"Snares?" James abandoned what looked like a game of keep away (wherein the thing being kept away was his person, which Ian was attempting to wrap in a soft towel) to scamper to his uncle's side. Ian bit his lip, looking troubled and his eyes sought Tony's beseechingly.

"He gets sick easily," the boy explained softly. His grip on the towel was tight.

"James, let Ian dry you off first." Tony called out, ignoring James responding groan. Casting a stern glance over each of the others he added, "That goes for the lot of you. You'll catch your deaths running off in wet underthings."

"But Tony," James dragged out Tony's name in a whine long enough to almost make Tony regret giving it to him.

"James." Stefen rebuked and the reprimand from his father was enough to have the boy snapping his mouth shut, allowing Ian to rub the towel over him. Tony hid a snigger at the dark glower he cast in Ian’s direction. After a moment he pushed his older brother away with a whine and Ian rolled his eyes.

"Your Da ever warn you about sour faces?" Bakhuizen teased, ruffling the James semi-dry hair, leaving it in spikes. "Come on, we're going to need to get those snares in if we want to eat before sunrise."

~*~*~*~*~

Tony looked up from his bowl of chopped vegetables as Stefen returned with the hunting party, their feet crashing over sticks and bramble, the sound of their laughter and chatter carrying through the air long before they appeared.

"How fares our mighty hunters?" Tony asked, poking at the fire. Artur zoomed to his side, Maria in tow, his cheeks flushed pink with exertion as he eagerly recounted the events of their excursion.

"Uncle Bucky caught a rabbit Tony! Only, he broke it's neck and Maria’s crying." Artur looked only half as guilty about this as he seemed to think he should, the gleam of excitement still in his eyes even as he shifted his weight bashfully and cast worried looks in his sister’s direction.

"Did he now?" Tony asked as Maria clamped onto his side. Tony picked her up wordlessly, looking toward her father who suspiciously couldn't seem to meet Tony's eyes just then. "Well I imagine that Uncle Bucky didn't want Herr Rabbit to be in any more pain than he already was."

"He didn't even ask, he just killed him Tony! And he's going to cook him!" Maria sniffled into Tony's neck, glaring balefully in Bucky's direction. The man had a pair of mountain hares slung over one shoulder, but he at least had the sense to hang back until Tony had carried the girl away from the fire before he began the process of skinning them.

"Maria, sweetheart, what did you think rabbit stew was made out of?" Bakhuizen pleaded at their backs, but the little girl just glared hatefully and turned her pretty little nose up. Tony bit back a chuckle.

"Obviously not bunny rabbits. Why don't you and I make sure we’ve got enough wood bambina while your Uncle Bucky gets the meat prepared?"

"He won't cook Herr Rabbit?"

"Hmm." Tony hummed, deciding not to lie to her. "He just might. But I promise you won't have to eat any if you don't want to."

Maria's face crumpled as tears began to slide down her cheeks anew and Tony sighed. He caught Stefen looking at them, and the captain quickly jerked his eyes away. Tightening his lips Tony strode toward him.

"Better yet, bambina, why don't you just lay your head here on your Father's shoulder and have a good cry." Tony could have laughed at the alarmed expression that leapt onto the captain's face as he deposited the crying child into his arms.

Stefen held her stiffly but Maria didn’t seem to care, after only a moments hesitance she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and did indeed seem content to lay her head against his shoulder, silent tears trickling down her cheeks only interrupted by the occasional sniffle.

Tony smiled, rubbing her small back gently with a hum of satisfaction.

“Is she… I mean will she be alright?” Stefen asked in a hushed tone, tense as if he feared the girl might explode and Tony rolled his eyes.

“She’s going to be fine. Sometimes all you need is a good cry.”

One crisis averted Tony went back to their supply box to fetch the cooking pot. He sent Péter down to the lake to fill it with water while he resumed his work peeling and chopping vegetables (a rudimentary task made difficult by the lack of proper work space) listening with half an ear as Bakhuizen explained skinning rabbits to his eager audience.

As he worked his eyes kept drifting back toward the captain standing aways off with Maria. He seemed to grow more comfortable the longer he held her. One broad hand stroked her back with betraying tenderness as he spoke quietly to her, the words unintelligible from Tony's seat by the fire.

The sun was setting by the time the pot had reached a steady boil. Tony tossed the spiced meat and vegetables into its roiling depths and closed the lid confident that if not the fanciest of fare it would do the trick.

There was some time still before it would be ready but the children seemed happy enough snacking on the raw vegetables and fruits that Willamina had packed for them, and Stefen had surprised them all by cracking open the tin of small cakes Artur had been eyeing despite the fact that it would spoil their supper. Tony suspected that it had something to do with Maria's watery eyes and pouting lips, but far be it for him to suggest that Captain Rogers could succumb to the wiles of a girl no older than five.

The mood around the fire as the evening progressed was relaxed. When the food was ready Tony dished up steaming bowls for everyone, proclaiming it was an old recipe of his mother's. It wasn't (Tony's mother had probably never touched wild hare in her life) but he knew Stefen would eat it if he said it was.

Stefen gave him a suspicious look and Tony grinned because he'd always liked clever people. Not that it mattered. Stefen was too polite to risk offending his memories.

He was more relaxed than Tony had ever seen him as Bakhuizen played his violin for them while they ate, telling jokes and stories from their boyhood. Bakhuizen had an easy charm and a somewhat sharp wit that he seemed more than happy to poke Stefen with at any given opportunity and Tony found himself enjoying it.

While the man's scrutiny and frosty reception where Tony himself was concerned wasn't always pleasant, Bakhuizen cared so deeply about Stefen it was evident in almost everything he did.

It didn't take a genius to see how two boys largely left to their own devices in this big cold world had forged such a strong bond. They'd been forged together, _become_  together, and there was something very enthralling about sitting next to the warm glow of the fire listening to their old stories, wrapped up in their warm familiarity.

"… And so the officer looks down at your Da's papers and says 'Eighteen. Who can vouch for you?! You're ten if you're a day. Have you even been with a woman yet?' And your Da just looks right at him, real serious and says, 'Three of them. And if you go talk to the Enns sisters down at the inn they'll vouch for me quick'. " Bakhuizen finished with a laugh and Péter and Ian dissolved into snickers over the story. The younger children laughed along, though Tony got the impression they were just happy to join in with the general feeling of merriment and couldn't perhaps appreciate all of the humor of the story.

Natacha looked less than impressed as she shook her head at Bakhuizen disapprovingly, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

"Did the Enns Sisters really vouch for you, Father?" She asked with an arched red brow and Stefen chuckled, looking somewhat exasperated himself as he nodded.

"Yes. They were quite fond of me, though not for the reason Bucky likes to imply."

"They were sweet on you Stefen." Bakhuizen winked at him roguishly explaining to their eager audience, "Only reason they let us stay at the inn with no money and fed us up is because they thought your Da was cuter than a button."

"They helped me stuff newspapers in my shoes and Giselle painted stubble on my chin." Stefen drawled and Tony couldn't help but laugh, nearly choking on a swallow of stew. "It was Uncle Bucky that the youngest one, Lara, was sweet on. He told her he was going to come back from the war a hero and marry her."

"What happened?" Tony couldn't help but ask with a slight sneer given Bakhuizen's reputation. "Young love didn't last?"

Bakhuizen shrugged, something tightening around his eyes.

"I tried looking her up after the war, but the inn was destroyed by then, hit in a bombing. Nobody could tell me much more beyond that. Probably married with a couple of babies somewhere." He shrugged once more but Tony got the feeling there was more he hadn't said. He did not know what it was... but he didn't believe that Lara Enns was anywhere or anything but dead.

"What was that song you used to sing for her?" Stefen asked, something soft but firm in his tone piercing the suddenly strained quiet. Bakhuizen looked up, and for a moment the two shared another of their private looks before he answered.

"About the edelweiss?"

Stefen nodded and to Artur who was sitting in his lap, craning his neck to peer up at him he murmured, "Your uncle Bucky will never admit it but he's a romantic. Always picking flowers and singing for pretty girls."

Bakhuizen glowered and rolled his eyes but there wasn't much heat behind it.

"Just because some of us know a thing or two about how to treat a woman doesn't make us hopeless or romantics. Your Da's just jealous because he was all thumbs and left feet when he was wooing your mother. It was _painful_ to watch. You really should have been there."

"I imagine we were trying to be." Péter smirked with a knowing leer and Stefen gave him a warning look as Artur wrinkled his brow.

"Where were we? Was I supposed to be there?"

Oh boy. Tony was just in the middle of choking down another bite of stew as he failed to master eating and laughing at the same time when Natacha thankfully jumped in to save the conversation.

"Stupid." Tony heard her mutter under her breath before she leaned down to fetch Bakhuizen's violin from where he'd rested it near his feet. "Will you teach it to us uncle James?"

Tony blinked, surprised to be reminded that the man actually had a name other than Bucky and Bakhuizen looked just as momentarily startled as he was. There was something very refined about her in that moment but equally young for it. A sweetness that made it hard not to feel shamefaced at their crass humor. Tony thought that if he squinted, the layers of time would peel away and he could see the woman that Margrit Rogers had been as clearly as he could see the woman that Natacha Rogers would be, and it was as lovely a vision as it was frightening.

As Bakhuizen took the violin from her and once more began to fill the air with the sound of strings, not for the first time Tony wondered how a father alone was supposed to help a girl flower into womanhood and not feel completely out of his depth. He did not envy Stefen that task.

~*~*~

As the last song finished and the children’s voice began to fade with the telltale strain of exhaustion, a full days use catching up with them, Stefen clapped and stood commanding their attention.

“Time for bed” he announced to several groans of protests. In Tony’s arms Maria just blinked with a tired yawn, watching to see what events might play out and he smiled, standing with some difficulty.

“You heard the Cap. We have our marching orders. Into your night clothes now.”

“But what about the wildcats?” Artur asked nervously, and Tony couldn’t tell whether the boy was anxious to meet one or frightened. Given that it was dark and Artur _was_ only seven, it was likely both. “Won’t they come out at night?”

“They don’t like fire; Father will keep the fire up while we sleep. Won’t you Father?” Ian murmured, reaching to unfasten Artur’s suspenders at his father’s nod of agreement. Artur accepted the help far more gracefully than James would have and there was relatively little fuss altogether as the children began their preparations for bed.

Tony kept a watchful eye on them while the captain and Bakhuizen went to gather more wood to get them through the night. By some miracle clothes were folded and set aside for morning, teeth were cleaned, and seven bodies secured under sleeping rolls by the time that Stefen and Bakhuizen returned to feed the fire.

“Father,” a small voice called out form one of the sleeping rolls, but over the crackling of the fire it was hard for Tony to distinguish which one. Stefen looked up and Ian squirmed in his sleeping bag until he was laying on his stomach, elbows propped up upon the ground. “Would you read to us?”

Tony watched as the captain paused like a deer caught in the lights of a moving car, and waited to hear what he would say.

“I don’t have a book…” Stefen hedged and Tony rolled his eyes, grateful that the captain was preoccupied with looking at the children. Thankfully Bakhuizen wasn’t keen on letting him off the hook that easily.

“But we know plenty of stories by heart.” The brunette said, clapping Stefen upon the shoulder and ignoring his glare as he said to the children, “Your Baka was one of the best story tellers in the- ”

“Village.” Tony’s eyebrows raised as Stefen cut the man off with a hard stare. “And that was a long time ago Buck.”

“Don’t you remember any?” Maria asked sadly, her dark hair poking out from the sleeping bag she shared with Artur. It was quiet for a long moment.

“I remember one.” Stefen finally answered.

“How does it go?” Natacha asked softly, blinking blue eyes sleepily. Though Tony had the strange feeling that the show of soft sleepiness was more for her father’s benefit than anything else.

It seemed to work because after another long moment and a hard swallow, to Tony’s surprise and the children’s delight Stefen took his seat next to the fire and cleared his throat, nervously beginning the tale.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever told you about ‘The Merciful Boy’. Once upon a time there was a boy, not much older than Artur is…”

Artur beamed at this prospect and Stefen looked somewhat taken back. Tony smiled. Stefen cleared his throat and began again with more confidence.

“The boy’s father was a shepherd and had many sheep in his care, which meant the boy and his mother lived very comfortably. But one day the father died… as sometimes happens, and the boy and his mother were left alone. Life became very difficult for them, and even though they both worked very hard they became poor and often very hungry.”

“Poor boy,” Maria murmured softly and Stefen nodded.

“Yes. But the boy was good and clever. He kept thinking up ways to try and improve their situation. Every day he’d go into the forest to chop firewood to sell, all day he’d work, but they still did not always have enough to eat or money to get by. The boy missed his father and the good life they once had. Until one day he thought ‘I am my father’s son’.

“So he asked his mother to borrow 100 coins so that he could purchase a lamb. He would raise it, breed it and one day become as great a shepherd as his father. At first his mother did not like this idea, she did not wish to go into debt, but the boy pleaded and pleaded until finally she relented and borrowed the money they needed.

“They boy took the money and journeyed to the fair where one could buy sheep, but as he was walking he encountered a crossroads. At this crossroad was a group of children, some just like him, some a bit older. They had caught a baby snake and they were torturing it with a stick.

“The boy pleaded with them to stop tormenting the baby snake, and though he must have been very frightened, he offered them a deal. ‘If you give me the snake I will give you all the money I have’. When they found out he had a 100 coins they were eager to make the deal.

“When the boy returned home with the snake and told his mother what he had done she was not angry, she was proud that he was not cruel like those other children and brave enough to stand up to them. They put the snake in a jar and fed it whatever they ate, though they had little to spare and the snake grew and grew until it out grew its jar. So they put it in a barrel but soon it outgrew even that. So they let it roam the house but soon it outgrew even _that_ , and the boy realized that the baby snake had grown into a fearsome dragon.”

The children gasped enraptured.

“Did it eat him?” Artur asked between his fingers and Stefen chuckled.

“No. The boy saved his life. The dragon wouldn’t hurt him.” Ian insisted, glancing uncertainly back at his father. “Right?”

“Quite right. When the dragon was as big as the house itself it said to the boy ‘You took mercy on me. You saved me and fed me when I was smaller and weaker than even you; but I am big now, and I must go home.’ But the boy was sad to lose his friend, and did not know where the dragon’s home was to take him there. ‘Climb on my back and I’ll fly you over there’ the dragon said.

“So, the boy did and they flew across mountains and valleys, until they reached a place where a large fire was visible on the horizon. The dragon shared with the boy that his parents could be found at the large fire. The boy was to go to them and tell them that he knew where their long lost son was. But whatever they did and however they threatened him, he must not tell them where to find their son until the father dragon relinquished the magic stone he kept under his tongue.”

“Or they’d eat him!” Artur demanded once more, mouth dropping open and Stefen laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Worse. They’d probably burn him to a crisp.” Bakhuizen answered with a wink.

“What happened next?” Péter, irritated with all the interruptions, demanded to know.

“The boy went to the dragon’s parents and told them that he knew where their son was, but he would not tell them until they give him the magic stone. The dragons screamed and threatened him, spewing great columns of fire, but the boy kept silent. Finally, the father dragon agreed and gave him the magic stone he kept under his tongue.

“The boy’s dragon friend came out of hiding then and the family of dragons was reunited. They lived happily for many years after that. Once home, the boy told his mother all about his adventure and after a while they grew hungry. But they were poorer now than they had ever been and when they looked around there was nothing left to eat.

“But something magical happened then. The magic stone heard them say that they were hungry and began to glow, suddenly the table was filled with pots and pans containing every delicious food you can imagine. And from that day forward whatever the boy and his mother needed, the magic stone would give it to them.”

Stefen took a small breath and Tony waited, wondering at the strange sense of hesitancy that had returned to the captain’s manner. The children were instinctively quiet. Despite the story’s clear conclusion, they did not make a sound.

“I was there, I ate and drank with them, so I know it to be true.” Stefen murmured the words so quietly that Tony doubted anyone but himself and Bakhuizen could have heard him. He frowned, wanting to insist that a story fanciful enough to include dragons could not possibly be true, but he bit his tongue.

The words Stefen had uttered felt like a ritual and there was something intensely private about the way that he and Bakhuizen looked at one another when their eyes met.

He felt a pang of jealousy at the silent communication passing between the two men, at the lifetime of knowledge and shared memories behind such a look; because there was no one left whom he could share such an intimacy with. He gritted his teeth and grabbed a stick to poke the fire, wishing the feeling away with flying embers.

“Father.” He was almost glad when James, who had sat up in his sleeping bag to stare intently at his father, who finally broke gaze with Bakhuizen and grunted in acknowledgment.

“When Tony took us to town we saw these boys beating an old man.”

Tony’s heart dropped down somewhere into his stomach, his whole body going still as the fire crackled and popped and the silence that came over the campsite broiled thickly with tension. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Natacha slowly sit up and could feel the heat of her glare in her little brother’s direction. But for once James only seemed to have eyes for his father, his jaw set stubbornly, blue eyes meeting blue without flinching.

“You did?” Stefen asked slowly, face deceptively blank. Tony could read the mounting anger in every stiff line of his body.

“Yes. He was a Jew. He was supposed to clean up the streets but he wasn’t any good at it. He made those boys mad so they punished him. They made him bleed.” James licked his lips as he furrowed his brow in deep concentration, staring hard at his father. “Is he like the snake in that story? The one those boys were bullying. Should we have stopped them?”

There was a roaring in Tony’s ears that had nothing to do with the fire. He was struck by the urge to cover his ears, the desire to turn his back and simply walk away before he could hear the captains answer so strong his whole body twitched.

It would hurt too deeply, he realized, to hear Stefen hum and haw and step over the question; or worse to hear him say that those boys had been justified in their actions. That such brutality could be excused when it came to the Jews.

He clenched his fingers tightly around the stick he still held, the wood creaking dangerously. They were just words. No better than Tony should expect from a Nazi officer. But he didn’t think he could handle hearing them and he wondered when he’d been so stupid as to start falling for Captain Rogers.

Nobody spoke but Tony could see Péter sitting up now, staring as intently at his father as he imagined everyone else was. Waiting.

“Yes.” Tony jumped at the sound of Stefen’s voice, his heart hammering as he turned his head, eyes flying to look in Stefen’s direction only to find those too earnest eyes of his waiting. “Those boys in the story tortured the snake because it made them feel bigger. And there are people, even grown up ones, who will tell you that’s okay, but it’s not.”

Tony took a shuddered breath, unable to quite believe his own ears and unable to pry his eyes away from Stefen’s as the captain, pale even in the fires glow, swallowed thickly.

"Even if it's their job?" Péter challenged, a hard edge to his tone that made Tony wince, suddenly terrified of the consequences behind all their words. As if he expected the S.S. to come pouring out of the trees.

“Even then.” Stefen answered, firmness in each syllable. “And like the mother in that story, I’d be proud to have children who were kind and brave and stood up against cruelty.”

James was nodding slowly, looking equally chagrined and thoughtful as he lowered himself back into his sleeping bag. Some instinct drew Tony to the movement in the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see Natacha sinking back down into her own sleeping bag, a flash of red hair and wounded eyes before she curled up and turned away from them.

~**~

Bakhuizen played his violin as the children drifted off to sleep, the sweet lilting notes a pleasant companion after the somber turn the evening had taken. Tony had gotten up after he’d begun to play, needing to breathe. He’d walked into the trees a ways until he was close enough to see the glint of moonlight on the lake.

What a day. He sighed tipping his head back to stare up at the expanse of stars in a velvet black sky.

“Stark.”

This time Stefen’s voice did not startle him. Some part of Tony had expected it. He opened his eyes slowly but did not turn. The ground crunched as Stefen approached, coming to stand beside him, the distant glow of the fire at their backs.

He knew why Stefen would feel the need to seek him out. The math was simple. By now Tony had witnessed enough to do the man serious harm if he wanted, never mind his suspicions about his activities. Stefen had injured him in an episode that any doctor would have classified as mentally imbalanced and he’d just outright called the actions of the HJ and the Reich senseless and cruel.

Tony could hang the man with a phone call. For a dark moment he wondered if he shouldn’t worry about the gun he knew Stefen carried. His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. Wouldn’t that just be ironic? Losing his life to a jumpy rebel too morally upright to just tell his children too quiet down now and go to sleep.

Tony turned to look at him, considering him quietly as they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, neither of them speaking.

The thing was… Stefen had risked saying such a thing in front of him. He’d known the consequences. Which meant he either had decided he did not care… or he had consciously decided to trust that Tony would not tell. And he knew he shouldn’t put his faith in such naïve hopes (no doubt brought on by his treacherously fluttering heart) but he could not forget a moment not unlike this one, when Stefen had been equally vulnerable and still willing to accept Tony’s forgiveness. Stefen had trusted him then and he was trusting him now.

“Captain?”

Stefen turned, abandoning his thousand-yard stare at the lake to meet Tony’s eyes once more.

“Why didn’t you tell me about what happened in the market that day?” Stefen asked, only a hint of his early anger present. Tony arched his brows.

“Would you have listened to anything else I said? We wouldn’t be here now.”

And Tony hoped that Stefen could see that where they were was so much better than where they’d come from, and how things could get better for him and the children still.

“I’m their father. I need to know when things like that happen.” Tony nodded, conceding that point and Stefen finished with, “I’ll be cross if you keep something like that from me in the future.”

“Cross? I can hardly imagine it.” Tony murmured with a serious frown. Stefen blinked at him but Tony didn’t break until the man’s shoulders twitched and suddenly a rusty chuckle rumbled from his chest. Tony grinned victoriously.

“Has there been a time where you’ve not been cross with me?”

“When you prepared your mother’s snack for me the other day.” Stefen easily replied, and he seemed a bit surprised at himself. “Though I might have been too hungry to be cross.”

“Ah, so is that where your heart truly lies?” Tony teased. “Through your stomach?”

Stefen shrugged, grin fading slightly as Tony stepped closer. He heaved a tired sounding breath.

“I’m not entirely sure where my heart is these days Stark. Or where it should be.”

“I think with your children is a good choice.” Tony offered gently. “What you gave them today is priceless Stefen.” Tony wanted to say so much more than that, but he couldn’t. He hoped Stefen understood.

Stefen paused for a moment, thinking before he slowly shook his head, staring at Tony with something close to wonderment.

“You gave them today Antony. We wouldn’t be here if not for you.”

“Tony.” he heard himself say almost on automatic. He wrinkled his nose. “Nobody calls me Antony.”

Stefen’s lips pulled into a small smile.

“Tony,” he murmured, something intent about it, his gaze narrowing on Tony's face with intense scrutiny as he raised a hand to brush his fingers gently against the swell of Tony's cheek. The touch, so unexpected, felt like fire against his skin.

He couldn't even blame the bruise. The skin under his eye was no longer as tender as it had once been and the bruising had faded to a pale yellow he could easily cover in the morning with powders. He hadn't even thought about the makeup washing off during their swim.

The children hadn't seemed bothered by the reminder of it, thank God for that, but the way Stefen was staring at him now had Tony wanting to reach back. Some latent instinct for self preservation must have stopped him because he just stood there, breath caught in his chest as he waited for Stefen to speak.

"Does it still hurt?" Stefen finally asked, voice low and soft in the dark, and Tony heard the things not said. Did I scar you? Am I as monstrous as I feel?

"Sto bene, Stefen," Tony murmured ardently in reply with a dry swallow. Something about the motion of his throat caught the captain's eye and it wasn’t until he heard the quick intake of his own breath and he saw the faint flush of blood creep up Stefen’s neck, that he realized that the music from Bakhuizen’s violin had gone abruptly quiet.

Tony was leaning into Stefen’s space and for one reason or another the captain hadn’t moved. They were standing close enough for Tony to feel the puff of his breath against the skin of his cheeks and suddenly he had to fight down a blush of his own.

He hastily took a step back, averting his eyes as Stefen turned to look back at the camp where Bakhuizen was putting his violin away, making no secret of his focus on them.

Tony’s heart was beating wildly as Stefen made his goodnights and walked away.

That was entirely too close, Tony thought with a sick feeling in his gut. He needed to have a very serious talk with himself.

Stefen turning out to be not much of a Nazi was all well and good, but deviant was still deviant. You didn’t have to agree with the Reich to despise that sort of thing. There were others in the world out there who shared his perversions but to hope that a man like Captain Rogers was one of them was laughable. <I>Captain Rogers</i>, lion of Austria, a pillow biter? Tony didn't know when he'd gotten so pathetically desperate.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head but could not ignore the dull ache in his chest. A little voice in the back of his mind remembered that tomorrow was Tuesday. Wednesday afternoon Frauline Werner would come to ask all her questions and poke and prod at Natacha to see what disloyalties might come spilling out and Natacha... well Tony knew what he would do, were he a girl in her situation. He no longer even had the strength to be angry about it.

There was just calm now, and the absurd thought that if he really had abandoned all sense and kissed Captain Rogers it would have been a memory worth dying to have.

~*~*~*~

Natacha had been quiet ever since they returned from their camping trip. They'd woken in the morning and uncle James had made them breakfast and though Péter had tried to chat with her Natacha had kept to herself. Eventually he'd given up. They'd gone on a hike as a part of their lessons for the day and Herr Stark had quizzed them on the name of the mountains and the types of things that lived there. Natacha had not volunteered many answers. There was a buzzing in her head, it had started out quiet. Just whispered questions after that story father had told them, but the whispers had grown louder and louder until her head was filled with an angry buzz.

She didn't want to sing, or to know the names of flowers, or to listen to any more of Herr Stark's lectures. She wanted to scream.

He said dangerous things. He said things that people weren't supposed to say unless they were bad (unless they were _enemies_ ). He didn't listen. He didn't obey.

All her life she'd been taught the importance of obeying her authorities, and Father more so than most relied on their ability to follow command. He needed to know that they would behave because he couldn't always be there for them, not even when he was in the same room, and he didn't want them to get hurt.

But now, he'd changed. Now he said things just as dangerous as Herr Stark did and it didn't make any sense!

Tony had gotten hurt. It made something in Natacha's stomach twist unpleasantly every time she looked at those bruises on his face and neck, and it just made that anger inside her burn hotter.

It wasn't Father's fault. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone. It was just that Tony never listened!

Because he was dangerous, a small voice whispered in Natacha's mind. He was an enemy. He had secrets.

She was very good at keeping her thoughts to herself so no one noticed how bad she felt, not even Péter.

By the time they'd finally packed up, left camp and rowed their boats across the lake and returned home she'd been so tired she just wanted to fall into her bed and sleep for a hundred years like Briar Rose but Father had touched her elbow and pulled her aside.

He wanted to have a word with her alone and Natacha knew what that meant.

After supper was had and in those few hours of leisure before bed Natacha quietly made her way to her father's study. She knocked on the door and when he invited her in she slipped inside, shutting the door quietly behind her.

She sat in the chair across from his desk without saying a word and waited.

“I wanted to speak with you before your visit with Frauline Werner tomorrow. It means a great deal for the future of this family." He began and Natacha narrowed her eyes.

"I know Father." He already knew she knew that.

"Frauline Werner is not just here to question whether you are fit to become a group leader in the BDM, she is here to question the loyalty of this house and everyone in it. And where they find fault they will act." He asked slowly, "Do you understand?”

Natacha stared at him, watching the way he formed each word. He was direct because Father was always direct. Mother had said it was the soldier in him. She'd said he couldn’t always leave the captain at the door. Back then she’d said they could help him by not banging about and making loud or sudden noises and by giving him extra long hugs. She remembered liking that, believing with a little girl’s selfishness that she was actually helping her father with the simple act of wrapping her arms around him at any given opportunity.

Silly.

But now she knew better. She knew how to help Frau Hogan run the house, how to keep the little ones clean and well behaved, how to make sure that her father’s coffee was always delivered just as he liked, how to sneak into his study in order to make sure that he hadn’t fallen asleep at his desk again or passed out on the couch that bothered his back.

She’d guided him to bed many nights and most of them he barely seemed to recognize where he was, let alone who she was.

When he got like that sometimes he even called her Peggy. Natacha didn’t mind.

She knew he missed mama. Knew he wasn’t right without her. And Mama had known that he wouldn’t be.

She’d asked Natacha to look out for him and she would!

She would make sure everything was taken care of. She’d thought she’d been doing a good job of it too until he’d gone away so long, only to come back different, changed somehow, and saying things he shouldn’t say.

The hurt rose again once more and she stuffed it down because she wasn’t James. She wasn’t going to throw tantrums like a baby, but she wasn’t going to fail him either. She’d protect him even if it had to be from himself.

Swallowing back the jumping nerves in her belly she tightened her fists in her lap and met his stare, the way she’d seen her mother do before Frau Hogan would shoo them away so their parents could ‘have words’.

“Herr Stark gave us permission to question authority.”

Father blinked, looking taken back. A flash of something close to irritation crossing his face before he grunted.

“That sounds like Herr Stark.”

Natacha narrowed her eyes at him, the anger jabbing at her insides.

“You told us that we should take pride in our country, that we should respect the authority of our government. You told me it was my duty as a citizen to honor the law and protect the interests of the people. You said that. You’ve always said that.”

Father’s face fell. He looked sad now but Natacha would not comfort him. She needed to understand first, needed to know what she was supposed to do in order to ensure his wellbeing.

“I did say that.”

“Did you mean it?”

“I meant every word. I’m proud of Austria. I wanted you to be. You should be.”

“We’re not Austrian anymore. We’re German.” Natacha reminded him. “And last night you said what Johann and Bobby did was wrong, that it was cruel and cowardly. You said we shouldn’t let that sort of thing happen again. Did you mean that too?”

“Yes. I did.”

“You can’t mean both.” She hissed, clenching her skirt in her fists tightly. “It’s disloyal. It’s lying. Are you asking me to lie?”

“Yes.”

The bald statement hit her like a slap and for a moment she couldn’t form a single thought, but then…

“Why?” she rasped out and Father sighed, deeply.

“Because they will hurt us if you don’t.”

Natacha felt cold and suddenly very small. Father had never said as much. When they heard stories, rumors of families kicked out of their homes, people arrested and disappearing without word, they were always assured it was only happening to the bad people. People who were against the Reich, or people who were jealous and greedy and out to destroy all that good hardworking Germans had built like the Jews.

Those things didn’t happen to them, couldn’t happen to them because they were on the right side. Herr Stark wasn’t, but he could be fired, he could go away. She could make him go away but it would all be for nothing if Father was himself disloyal.

She was tempted to believe that all of this could be blamed on Herr Stark, that he’d poisoned her Father’s mind somehow (just like the Führer always warned against) but she knew her Father and he’d been afraid and unhappy long before Tony had come to live with them. Natacha had always liked to watch and when you watched you saw things, heard things… and Natacha never forgot anything either.

That was how she knew there was more.

“You mean they’ll arrest you for being disloyal. They’ll take us away from you.” She predicted fearfully, hoping that was all there was to it, that the things that kept her up at night weren’t true. “Then take it back! Tell Ian and the others that you didn’t mean it – ”

“Natacha.”

She snapped her mouth closed, biting back the threat of tears because he sounded ashamed (of her?) and sad, and tortured, and he wasn’t supposed to be any of those things! She was supposed to help him and make him happy, but she’d failed.

Except for yesterday, a little voice niggled at the back of her mind and she furrowed her brow in thought. He’d been happy yesterday with them in the mountains. Happier than she’d seen him in forever.

“Is it because of Grandmother?”

He did not answer her and for Natacha it was answer enough. He had not needed to ask her which grandmother. For some reason, that made Natacha furious again and it was easy to look at him even though she was ashamed of crying.

“Baka. Is it because of her?!”

She’d been as small as Maria when Father had first brought his mother to live with them. Harry used to make fun of the way she talked but Mother had said that was just because the Osborns were stuck up. Baka wasn’t wealthy and she was foreign and people looked down on that sort of thing. But Natacha had always thought there had to be more to it. She wished she was wrong but she knew she wasn’t.

“You weren’t happy when she taught me to dance. You weren’t happy when she tried to tell us stories. I thought you were ashamed of her, like the Osbornes, but that wasn’t it. It was because she was different.”

She wouldn’t say the word. She knew better than most that anybody could be listening (usually it was her) but Father didn’t need her to. She watched as he slowly left his desk, crossing the short distance from his chair to hers to stand beside her. With the anger giving away to cold fear it was too hard to look at him now. She bit her trembling lip and stared at the floor.

He laid his hand over hers and she sniffed back a sob.

“Yes.” His voice was deep and rough like he might start crying too and that terrified her. “I grew up different. I grew up rough and poor and not well treated. I didn’t want that for you. And your mother’s family… they wouldn’t have accepted the marriage if they knew. Your mother was against it, you should know that, but I didn’t want to take her family away. We agreed it was easier for me to just leave that life behind. And now, now it would be very dangerous to tell the truth and I’m sorry. If I had been a better man perhaps we’d be somewhere else, somewhere you would not need to lie or to be afraid. I’m ashamed of that. Not of you. I hope you can forgive me.”

Her eyes flew wildly to his, wondering how he’d known what she’d been thinking. Of course she forgave him. He hadn’t wanted them to live in shame. It had been the only practical decision to make. So why did it hurt? She didn’t know but she also knew it couldn’t be allowed to matter.

Because Frauline Werner mustn’t know. Nobody must know. Those people, her Baka’s people, were on the list. They were enemies of the Reich. They were just like that old man… and Natacha shuddered, unable to stop from picturing her Baka as she’d last seen her.

She shook the vision away. It wasn’t real. Her grandmother was dead along with her mother. It didn’t matter what they’d thought or what they’d wanted. They weren’t here. They weren’t the ones who could get hurt and they couldn’t keep the family from harm. But Natacha could.

“You should have told me before.” She accused, rising from her chair. “I could have made a mistake with Frauline Werner.”

She could have said something wrong. Those kinds of people weren’t allowed to own property, weren’t allowed to serve in the army, they simply weren’t <I>allowed</i> period. Her father could lose everything if people knew. She’d never have forgiven herself if she’d been the one responsible for that happening to her family.

“Natacha…” he reached for her but she backed away.

“May I be excused Father? I have an important morning ahead.”

She had a lot to think about. If she let her father touch her she’d start crying again. He might even hold her like he had when she was little and there was no time for her to be little anymore.

He let his hand fall and nodded wordlessly. She headed for the door only pausing a moment to look back when she’d reached it and pulled it open.

“I forgive you Father. And you don’t need to worry.”

She’d take care of everything.

*~*~*~*

Tony's last morning of freedom dawned bright, but clouded, the sun casting the sky in delicate pink and gold. It promised to be another beautiful summers day. An auspicious beginning for any man's last morning, regardless of its deceptive promises.

Tony soaked it in just the same, grateful for what it was. He doubted he'd see many more sunrises from his prison cell.

He'd not slept the night before, and when the sun had begun it's rise he’d finally given it up as a bad job and thought to go out to the terrace; but halfway there he'd changed his track, heading for the kitchen instead, realizing that this particular morning he did not wish to be alone.

Willamina was up before the rest of the house, already deep in preparations for the morning meal with lunch and supper hardly waiting their turn. She'd been in the middle of an argument with Hammer when Tony arrived, loudly proclaiming that she'd served the Rogers family for going on fifteen years and she'd thank him to remember it.

"Frauline Werner is a very esteemed guest, Willamina, and the Captain is sure to invite her for dinner! Frauline Werner and Frau Rogers were quite close you know." Hammer was insisting.

“I know who she is," Willamina had grumbled in reply and noticing Tony she'd muttered under her breath, "I never liked the woman myself. Terrible snob."

"Frauline Werner is an esteemed member of society and a patriot!" Hammer seethed indignantly, as Tony had busied himself procuring a cup of coffee (Willamina always left a fresh pot on the table for the staff).

"Every last thing must be perfect or it'll be the talk of Salzburg. I trust you'll be dining with the staff this evening, Herr Stark?" Hammer sneered at Tony’s back. Tony had toasted his cup to him with a roll of his eyes, not bothering to dignify that with a reply as he made his way toward the back door. Personally he didn’t think he’d make it to dinner. Frauline Werner sounded like the sort who would hardly wait to get home before reporting a rebel to the police.

"Willamina Did you -" Hammer had turned back to the cook who'd immediately cut him off.

"Put the bread in the oven? Why yes I did." She'd turned to Tony then and grumbled with a good natured wink, "It's a wonder I remembered how to wipe my own ass this morning, the way this one carries on."

Tony smiled fondly at the memory sipping his coffee as he turned from his view of the garden to glance back into the kitchen where Willamina was now scolding a kitchen girl for leaving the bread to toast too long.

"Oh yes, he's a pretty one, but while you're gawking like a ninny the loaves for lunch have gone to ruin. Justin will have both our heads!"

Tony chuckled into his drink, though for the maid's sake he tried to quiet the sound. The girl flushed a vibrant red but wisely scurried to be rid of the ruined loaves and ran into the pantry to fetch the supplies to begin a new batch. Willamina, standing over the stove with hands fisted on curvaceous hips glowered in Tony's direction.

"Yes, it's good for you to laugh. You won't have to listen to Herr Hammer going on for hours about the disrespect we've shown the Reichland by serving overly browned toast."

"That does sound frightful," Tony acknowledged with another laugh just as Pepper bustled into the kitchen.

"If you were a decent man Tony, you'd make good on all that flirting you do and take the poor girl on a proper date." She said as she grabbed two bowels off the table, preparing to take them into the dining room.

"Pepper, my dear, I'm a man of the cloth." Tony placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "My heart belongs solely to God."

"I sincerely doubt that Stark." a smooth baritone interrupted Willamina's laughter and Tony tensed, straitening up from where he leaned against the doorframe. The jovial mood drained from the room as all eyes turned to meet the captain's as he entered the kitchen.

"Captain," Pepper greeted Stefen with a prim curtsey, Willamina following wordlessly. "Is there something you needed?"

"No, please don't bother yourselves on my account. I just found myself thirsty."

And, Tony thought, likely as unable to sleep as he was, but he stayed silent as Willamina tutted and brought down a glass despite Stefen's protests and poured him a cup from a pitcher on the counter.

"I'm afraid this one's been sitting out for a while, Captain, for me and the maids, but it's fresh." She apologized and Stefen looked uncomfortable and guilty all at once as he nodded shortly in reply.

"That's... quite alright, Willamina. Thank you."

Tony watched in amusement as Stefen took a polite sip and then fidgeted under the scrutiny of the women, before he caught himself, clearing his throat and straightening his spine like the most resolute of soldiers, and stepping toward Tony with purpose.

"Stark." He greeted with a cordial nod and Tony replied with a smirk.

"Captain."

"Would you care to walk with me? In the garden," Steve added as if Tony couldn't have assumed that on his own, and Tony was halfway tempted to tell him no, just to see that flustered blush of his once more, but with Stefen it was just as likely to aggravate and send him on the defensive.

He nodded his agreement and Stefen stiffly gestured for him to go first, so Tony pushed away from the open door and stepped into the back garden, waiting for Stefen to join him.

They walked in silence for a time, eyes idly casting over flower and shrub in a pretense of taking in the fresh air and scenic appeal of the garden, casting the occasional furtive glance at the other.

When Tony caught the corner of the captain's mouth tugging upward as if he might smile, he laughed under his breath. What a pair of geese they must appear. He had no doubt that Pepper and Willamina were spying from the kitchen.

"Herr Weiss did an admirable job with the garden." Tony broke the silence, gesturing to the garden in general, and Stefen startled at the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly for a moment as he gathered his wits for small talk. Tony bit back a smile.

"Yes, Sam has a gift with plants."

"If you don't mind my curiosity, Captain, how did the two of you meet?"

This particular piece to Stefen’s puzzle had been on Tony’s thoughts for weeks now, and on this morning – the last morning – he found little reason not to ask. The captain blinked once more, his lips tightening as he considered whether or not to answer. Tony waited, unusually patient.

"We met during the war.” Stefen said slowly. “We were in separate units to start, but as the war dragged on and numbers dwindled the army deemed it prudent to abandon some of its prejudices." His mouth twisted wryly in something of a pained grimace as he glanced at Tony out of the corner of his eye, as if to judge his response.

"We were better for it. Sam is one of the bravest men I've ever known."

While Tony didn’t doubt Stefen’s sincerity it was impossible also not to note that admired or not, he’d still had Weiss tilling his soil beds.

"And how did he end up working for you?" Tony asked as nonchalantly as he could, careful to keep any accusation out of his tone. Stefen winced anyway, his shoulder’s stiffening, but he still answered and for that Tony was grateful.

"Sam's family came from Deutsch-Ostafrika. His grandfather migrated here from Berlin as a young man.” Stefen explained stiffly. “Though Sam and the rest of his kin were born here in Austria, prejudices being what they are can make finding fair wages difficult. I was happy to help him."

Tony nodded, not needing Stefen to explain further the difficulties for a man like Weiss. Under the Hapsburgs things had not always been good, but the monarchy at least had shown the occasional interest in social reform and man could hope that bit by bit things could get better. The Great War had changed all that and the Reich had destroyed it for good.

Under Nazi law the Afro-Germans had lost whatever forms of citizenship they might have held before and with it their right to employment. Among other things.

"When he said the rest of his family had moved on. Was this recent?” Tony asked, though the pieces were already coming together in his mind. “Because I was under the impression that you had to be a citizen for your travel papers to be valid."

Immigration was not inexpensive. Tony had already summarized that Stefen must have had a hand in Weiss' late exit from the country. But an entire family?

"Money can buy a man a lot of things." Stefen answered cryptically, but Tony didn’t need a straight answer from him. He already knew the truth, and it was… flooring to say the least.

"But not respect. Not really. " Tony murmured, staring at Stefen in such a way that he'd have been blind to miss the real point: that Stefen had earned his. He was sure now that what he’d glimpsed between the two men was nothing short of love. Genuine, tested and unfailing.

"That must have cost you dearly."

"The right thing often does." Stefen twitched, uncomfortable; though whether it was from the praise or the intensity of Tony’s gaze was hard to tell. And then he turned slightly to stare directly at Tony for the first time, something almost nervous in his eyes before he took a breath and soldiered on.

"Stark, I wanted to thank you. Yesterday was... well the children quite enjoyed themselves."

"Only the children? You know Cap there were a few moments there, you almost convinced me you were enjoying yourself too." Tony quipped and the captain’s mouth twitched again. He crossed his arms behind his back in a distinctly military fashion and turned to face the path ahead of them once more.

"Tony, do you always insist on being difficult?" he drawled after a silent moment, and something warm bloomed in Tony’s chest at hearing his name cross the man’s lips once more.

"If I can help it."

A low chuckle rumbled from the captain’s chest and Tony grinned.

They continued to walk, side by side, only this time the quiet of the morning felt comforting. Wonderful, really, if Tony were being honest.

"Do you think the children would enjoy a trip into town today?" Stefen asked after a moment more and Tony’s heart thudded at the unexpected question. Eyes darting to the captain, who kept his gaze trained strictly ahead, Tony searched his expression for some hint that he’d heard correctly. When nothing else came he swallowed.

"Are you still afraid someone will take notice?" Tony asked.

"Yes,” Stefen admitted after a long pause. Then he sighed.

Tony blinked at him. Anxious hope mixing with a wave of such fervent relief it felt a bit like crashing. He’d all but given up hope that he’d made any sort of lasting difference here, but those words… those words were everything.

"Won't Frauline Werner expect to be invited for super, being an old friend of the family? Herr Hammer seems to believe that is the case." Tony reminded him, because there was always a catch (always a boot to drop) when it came to Tony’s personal happiness.

Stefen however, did not appear to even need to think about it, responding with a dry drawl and a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Tony was suddenly aching to see more of, and despairing over the loss (it wasn’t to be).

"I regret that very important business concerning the children’s health has called me away and I am uncertain of when I’ll return."

"That is a shame.” Tony forced cheerfulness through the unexpected tightness in his chest. “Willamina is making Nockerl."

“Well perhaps that business won’t keep us too long.” Stefen returned after a beat. “Artur might be driven to murder if he missed Nockerl.”

Tony barked a laugh, enjoying the quiet accompaniment of Stefen’s chuckles. Tipping his head up toward the sky he breathed in deeply, taking in a lungful of sweet air as he sorted through the strong and sudden urges he felt.

"Captain..." Tony began, but he found once he had started he did not quite know how to finish. Stefen turned to him expectantly and Tony found himself distracted by the gold of his hair as it caught the sunrise. He caught a quick breath and shook his head at himself.

He was hopeless.

"Stefen," Tony began once more, licking dry lips. "It truly has been my pleasure."

It was the closest thing to how he felt that Tony could manage without giving more away than was wise; because no matter how certain he was that Natacha would repeat the things he’d said to the vaunted Frauline Werner there was still always that one percent, and so much of him still that wanted to live.

The words tasted keenly of goodbye, and Stefen didn’t miss it.

He frowned, stopping to look at Tony, eye’s combing over him carefully as if searching for the piece that would put it all together and Tony flinched, unable to keep looking at him.

"We're glad to have you, Herr Stark.” Stefen finally replied, and then quieter, with a telling thread of uncertainty. “You do plan on staying with us?"

Stefen looked so disturbed at the thought of Tony not being there, that it was hard for Tony to ignore his thumping heart of the way that blood wanted to rush to his cheeks.

He pushed it all down, telling himself that of course a man as out of his depth where children were concerned as Stefen would be terrified of losing the help hired to deal with them.

It didn’t stop his damnable heart from overreacting.

With as much of a smile as he could muster, Tony made the only promise he could.

"As long as I am able.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The story that Steve tells is a real Roma fairy tale, collected and written down by Roma actress, playwright, and researcher Alina Şerban. They are part of a larger project to conserve Roma culture and of course to share with a wider public. Shoot a message our way if you'd like a link to the website with more details.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded Frauline Werner arrives and both Steve and Natacha must make big decisions with the best interest of the family in mind. Bucky has all of Steve's numbers and comes to the conclusion that Steve's growing feelings are dangerous. Steve's feelings continue to grow and he continues to ignore them - until he really can't (no but really. He can't).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter ends the three part saga chapter six turned into. :) It will be a touch longer to get chapter nine to you but as some pretty major things happen in this bit we're hoping it will tide you over. 
> 
> *Warning: Bucky threatens to smack Peter, not in jest. We thought pretty hard about this and ultimately decided that corporal punishment being the norm in his own upbringing and opinions on it being more favorable in society as a whole, that this made sense for him as a form of discipline. No actual smacking occurs. 
> 
> Steve has a physical response to a grotesque nightmare that any psychiatrist would be able to help him through, but there are none of those here. Just bumbling dudes.

_Good Father, I’m afraid all of your wisdom has as usual, gone to no good. As predicted I have made a mess of things, though I’m sure it won’t surprise you to hear that I regret not a moment of my folly. I’m sure you are glad to have washed your hands of me. We once spoke regarding my father’s estate. While I can only be grateful to Herr Stanislov for his careful guardianship these many years, the Lord hath put it upon my heart, in the event of my passing, to bequeath all capital and shares left to me, to His holy church. I doubt this will please poor Herr Stanislov who has been such a friend to us, but we must argue not with the will of God._

_-Antony Eduard Stark._

Tony was standing on the front steps along with Natacha and the rest of the household, minus Stefen, the other children, and Bakhuizen, when the sleek black automobile carrying Dörthe Werner rolled through the gate.

Harold was quick to step forward and assist the woman with her door, his expression more somber than Tony had ever seen it. He decided he didn’t like it. He much preferred Hogan’s usual jovial attitude and easy nature.

Frauline Werner was a tall woman, slender with a regal bearing that did nothing to soften the sharpness of her features. It was the coldness of her eyes, their slow almost feline appraisal as they took in the welcoming party standing to greet her, that really put Tony off.

She dropped her keys into Hogan’s outstretched palm without further acknowledging his existence as Hammer stepped forward with chest puffed out and arm raised in salute.

When Pepper and the others silently followed suit Tony gritted his teeth and mimicked the motion, though he refused to say the damn words. He’d already said enough for Natacha to bury him. One more little act of defiance was hardly going to change anything.

Werner appeared occupied by Hammer who grandly welcomed her. When he informed her of the captain’s regrets that he could not be there himself, her lips turned down in a disapproving frown and Tony swore Hammer broke out into a sweat.

“How terribly sad.” She murmured as she came to stand in front of Natacha, something graceful in her motion despite the efficiency of her step. “Seven children, and that all of you should turn out so frail.”

Tony tensed as she reached out to grasp Natacha by the chin, the grip appearing gentle but no less firm for it.

“It’s in the breeding I’m afraid. I did warn Margrit.” she tutted and Tony bristled, biting his tongue to keep from saying any of the hundreds of replies that leaped to mind. She stroked Natacha’s cheek with her thumb, bestowing the kind of fondness one might upon a pet as her lips spread into a wide smile that did nothing to warm her eyes.

“You have her look; we can be thankful for that. The Von Trapps are an old, noble, family. How are your grandparents my dear?”

Natacha answered promptly, voice as level and as emotionless as Tony had ever heard it. Polite as anything.

“They are well Frauline Werner, though we don’t see them often.”

The woman’s golden brown eyebrows arched, a calculating tilt to her mouth, despite the sympathetic hum she made.

“There is no discord between them and your father I hope? They were so very disappointed after Margrit married, but one must carry on and put a good face on things.”

“It’s the distance, Frauline Werner. They’ve retired to their second home. The Swedish air is good for Grandfather’s health.”

“Ah, the chalet.” Werner murmured and Tony thought he saw the first real hint of warmth in her expression. “I summered there a few times as girl, with your mother. Did she ever tell you?”

Natacha nodded wordlessly, and Tony could not tell by her expression whether it was a simple truth or the baldest of lies. No matter. Werner blinked slowly and the moment passed, her expression chilly once more as her gaze turned to the only unfamiliar face in the lineup.

“You must be new to the house.”

Tony’s mother had drilled social niceties too intently into him for Tony’s nod and reply not to come off polite and sincere, but it was a near thing.

“Herr Stark. I tutor the children. We’re glad to receive you Frauline.”

“When they are well enough to attend lessons I imagine you must enjoy your pupils.” The woman clicked her tongue and there was something secretive in her eyes that set Tony’s teeth back on edge.

“Of course.”

“Lovely.” She smiled once more, dismissing him to turn back to Natacha. “I look forward to hearing all about your studies. Shall we go inside?”

*~*~*~*

Frauline Werner asked for a tour. Natacha took her around the villa and listened to all of her old stories about the house and Natacha’s mother. Frauline Werner liked that she listened, that Natacha was impressed by all the grand things that she’d done and the money she had.

Natacha wasn’t. Not really.

When she asked which room in the house was Natacha’s favorite she answered her mother’s room, even though it was her father’s room now and hadn’t felt like just mamas even when she’d been alive.

Frauline Werner tutted softly at her and touched her cheek.

Natacha’s favorite room in the house really, used to be the music room. But they hadn’t been allowed in there after her mother died. She liked her father’s study now. It was quiet and it smelled like him.

Frauline Werner never said her Father’s name. She didn’t even say his title. He was just her ‘father’. She said it with sympathy, like it was something Natacha might be embarrassed by.

She wasn’t. But when Frauline Werner clucked her tongue and simpered that she must miss her mother terribly she agreed.

“Father is a good man…” she said, later when they’d sat down for tear, spreading liptauer over a slice of fresh bread. “I hope I make him proud, but it’s difficult sometimes knowing what to do.”

That was true. But Frauline Werner would never guess how much.

“Of course. You’re a young woman now, and heaven knows that’s not a soldier’s expertise.” Frauline Werner reached out to cover Natacha’s hand with her own, the way mama used to.

She said soldier like the word was dirty and Natacha wondered at the difference between it and the German officers she spoke so highly of.

Father was distinct because he was low born, only Frauline Werner had no clue how dirty his blood actually was.

She must never know. Nobody could.

“Father has so many important matters to worry about as an officer. I don’t want him to have to worry about me, or my brothers and sisters so much.” Natacha said. “I am the woman of the house and now that I am better, he needs my support more than ever, so that he can be free to serve the Reichland.”

Frauline Werner nodded approvingly and Natacha beamed at her.

“You’re a very astute young woman Natacha. I’m sure you’re an asset to him. You’ll make many friends in the BDM, and with the right guidance you’ll be an asset to the Reich, and that is even better.”

Natacha took a bite of her bread. Frauline Werner had called the dish delightfully quaint when Frau Hogan had served them. Natacha loved liptauer.

“How are your studies? Are you up to date with the state curriculum?” Frauline Werner asked taking a delicate sip from her tea cup.

Natacha’s hands began to sweat but she concentrated deeply and they did not shake as she lowered her bread back to her plate.

“Yes. Herr Stark has been very diligent.”

“Yes he seemed a very capable sort. I’m sorry he did not stay longer. Is he really Hughard Stark’s son? How delightfully curious. He must have been very young when he chose the cloth, for no one to have heard a peep about him in all this time. A strange choice for the heir to a fortune.” Frauline Werner hummed thoughtfully.

“Perhaps he is devout?” Natacha suggested the obvious and Frauline Werner’s lips curled in a grin very close to a sneer.

“Perhaps he is just eccentric. And that, my dear, is dangerous. There are many men who are crying their devotion to the will of God even as they betray the Führer, His chosen leader. The Führer is forced to weed them out of the church, revealing them for the charlatans and traitors that they really are. It’s a terrible business.”

Natacha said nothing. Frauline Werner’s gaze narrowed on her and Natacha stilled.

“Do you trust that Herr Stark is truly as devoted to God as his vows would suggest?”

Natacha took a deep breath.

She thought about Herr Stark and all of the dangerous things that he had said and she thought about her Baka and dancing in the music room. She thought about watching her mother getting paler and paler in the bed, and her promise to take care of her father.

She thought about her father; saw him holding Ian afloat in the water, lifting Artur up onto his shoulders. Saw him walking in the garden with Herr Stark.

She thought about secrets that must be kept at all cost, and the sacrifices that must be made to keep them safe.

*~*~*~*

“… so, since U-235 is far more potent than U-238. We’d have to isolate it and frankly progress in the area of isolating these kinds of isotopes is still very new.” Tony explained. The bed was littered with open books, papers and charts which had finally arrived from the abbey, curtesy of Bruce. Péter scribbled furiously in the journal on his lap, his face screwed up in thought.

Tony was happy to see Péter so involved in the lesson, truly challenged in a way that he couldn’t be when they had his younger siblings to consider.

Péter had declined to go on the outing into town to everyone’s surprise but Tony’s, choosing to hide in his room until Tony could excuse himself from the stifling interview with Frauline Werner.

It was wonderful that Stefen was putting more of an effort into being there for his children, but Péter was at an age that saw much, forgot little, and was particularly good at holding grudges. He wasn’t happy with his father and even after what had turned out to be a wonderful trip (perhaps even because of it) those feelings unresolved, had few ways but to manifest in bouts of rebellion.

Tony had his own fractured relationship with his father as prime example.

He didn’t envy the uphill climb that Stefen had ahead of him, as far as Péter went, he just hoped Stefen had the strength to stick it out. The reward would be worth it.

The fortuitous arrival of the deliveryman and an afternoon to themselves had seemed like an opportune time for Tony to make good on his promise of lessons in chemistry, and truth be told it gave Tony a reason to keep himself locked away out of sight while Werner carried out the rest of her visit.

If he was to be carted away by the police in a few hours he could think of few better ways to spend his last free moments than in scientific discovery with another sharp mind.

“Has it ever been done?” Péter asked, a hungry edge to the gleam in his eye and Tony grinned.

“No, Beams has gotten the closest I’ve heard of, but you can bet there are plenty of other scientists who are trying.”

“Have you ever tried?”

Tony hesitated for a moment but figured there was no harm in telling Péter the truth.

“Like I said, I never loved chemistry so much as I loved machinery and I didn’t have the right tools or the means of creating them to do the job right.” Tony sighed wistfully. “What I wouldn’t do for a proper lab and my best shot at it though.”

“Why, what’s so special about it?” Péter asked curiously and Tony tapped one finger against the page of his personal journal, laying open in his own lap, where he’d detailed notes on the atomic makeup of uranium.

“It’s in the math Pete. The fission of one atom of uranium two-thirty-five would generate how much energy?”

“Two-hundred-fifteen MEV.” Péter calculated correctly and Tony’s grin only widened with delight as the boy’s mouth fell open in awe. “Tony that’s… that kind of energy could – ”

“Light up whole cities for years. A reactor with that kind of energy output could change the face of the planet. Think about what we could do with that!”

A troubled frown creased the boy’s brow.

“I am. Tony, weaponized energy like that could destroy a city.”

“It could also mean the end of cold and a monumental leap forward for industry, not to mention medical research. This would advance society in ways we previously could never have imagined.” Tony insisted passionately.

“I don’t know…” Péter hedged, unconvinced.

Impassioned, Tony fervently turned the pages of the journal, looking for the old familiar diagrams.

“Péter a kitchen knife can either be used to feed the village or slaughter it. You and I, we make the choice daily what to do with it. I want to build a city Péter, not decimate one.”

Finally finding what he was looking for, Tony swiveled the journal around, presenting he pages with something bordering too close to desperation for his comfort.

These diagrams were old. Older than anything else in the journal. A product of insomnia and the lingering taste of night terrors, something Tony often came back to in his most desperate hours when sleep had evaded him too long and the demons of his past encroached too close.

He’d never shown anyone this; but he was certain suddenly that he wanted Péter to see. To _know_ , and maybe one day he’d even _do_. Somebody should have them, and that somebody was Péter. He knew it.

Péter gingerly took the journal from Tony’s hands, his eyes widening as they slowly took in the sketches, the equations and schematics, his slender hands turning the pages with delicacy. It was impossible, but it did seem as if Péter understood their importance.

Péter turned another page and stopped at the drawing of the tower.

It was designed like the tower buildings Tony had only heard about in America. Bruce thought the idea of them was gaudy and strange, but Tony understood the appeal and the potential of such a design.

The tower standing in the middle of a city of gleaming metal was tall, impenetrable, possibly even imposing, but made elegant by sleek glass. It was a place where light could penetrate every corner, but nothing you didn’t want could get in. In such a place was all the hope in the world: the bitter, poisonous, dregs of the past cast away where they belonged for a brighter future.

A bright light shone from the top, powering the rest of the city. A bright light for everyone. So he was a bit of a romantic. Sue him.

“This is amazing Tony.” Péter breathed out in awe. “Do you really think something like this could ever be real?”

“It will.” Tony promised, swallowing past the lump rising in his throat. “One day we’ll build it.”

Tony could see the wheels turning in the boy’s mind as he considered his words. After a moment Péter nodded, the gleam of excitement returning to his eyes as he slapped his hands against his thighs enthusiastically.

“Why not start now? Between you and I we could build an atomic reactor! We can get the proper tools and together I’m sure we could figure out how to isolate U-235, and if we can’t, well then maybe there’s a way to create our own element. That’s possible right? It has to be possible -”

Tony raised his hand to still the excited flow of thought coming from Péter.

“Hold on a minute. Firstly, yes in theory it is possible to create elements. But we’re no closer to simply creating what we need than we are from pulling them from nature, and while I am all in favor of not letting the fact that no one has done it before stop us, you seem to have forgotten that I receive a small salary which is hardly going to cover the expense of the materials, so money is in fact a huge deterrent.”

“Yes,” Péter scoffed impatiently, “but father could finance us. He has loads of money.”

“Yes.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Your father is certainly a wealthy man and would make a worthy investor in our scientific endeavors, but the first lesson you’ll need to learn on investors is that rich men do not like to part with their money unless there’s something in it for them.”

“But Tony, this could change the world!” Péter whined, sounding so much like James at his most petulant that Tony laughed. “Why wouldn’t he want to help us?”

“Because, believe it or not, this is dangerous work to be undertaking in a schoolroom, and something about his son tinkering around with radioactive materials might make your father nervous. You could grow eight limbs if we weren’t careful.”

“I suppose,” Péter grumbled, face setting with disappointment and Tony clapped a consoling hand upon his shoulder.

“All inventors start small Péter. Let’s focus on something small, like the identification of acids. Something we can show your father and warm him up to the idea of having a scientist for a son.”

There was still something of a disappointed pout on Péter’s face as he accepted the compromise but Tony could hardly blame him, just as eager to chase their line of theory until it became a reality. He agreed with Péter. The boy was uncommonly intelligent in a way that Tony found invigorating. Together they might just have been able to figure out the impossible.

“Alright, but where are we going to find acid in the house?” Péter asked and Tony smiled.

“You’d be surprised. You wait here while I gather what we’ll need for the experiment.” Tony advised him and turned for the door. He paused when he heard Péter call his name, shyly, turning to look back at the boy with a brow arched in question.

“The theory of radioactivity…” Péter wet his lip nervously before looking back up at Tony, and going on with more determination. “Did a woman really do that?”

Tony huffed a quiet laugh.

“Yes, Péter, she did.”

“So, that means it’s not impossible… there’s a chance, isn’t there? I could discover something too?”

Smiling warmly at him Tony lifted his hands in a helpless shrug.

“That’s really for you to determine. But I’d never bet against you.”

Tony departed with a wink, shutting the door to Péter’s bedroom behind him with a quiet click. He went to the kitchen first to fetch the necessary supplies, where Willamina was finishing the preparations for supper and grumbled at him for being in the way until he complimented the delicious smell of her cooking and the equally delightful shape of her figure that fine day. She seemed more cheerful then, even though she shooed him away.

He was on his way to the closets where the maids kept their cleaning supplies when a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He couldn’t say what it was, just a shadow likely, or why a prickle of apprehension went up his spine but Tony got the distinct feeling that something was wrong.

Without questioning the feeling further, he abandoned his quest for acidic materials to investigate, turning the corner just in time to catch Frauline Werner disappearing into the captain’s study, shutting the door with a soft click behind her.

Tony felt a twist of something painful in his chest, reminded suddenly of what the children had let slip about the infamous Frauline Glass when she’d been their governess. Tony had almost forgotten his assumptions that the captain must have been sleeping with the woman, but watching the woman slip into his private quarters when she had no other reason to be there brought it rushing back.

Except… it was difficult for Tony to imagine now, that Stefen would have done such a thing.

Tony knew he would not have opened up to someone that way.

And with that resolve in place it occurred to him to remember that Stefen had taken the other children away for the day and had likely not yet returned, if the quiet of the house was anything to go by.

Which meant that Frauline Werner had lost every available reason to be where she was.

A sane man knowing that Werner had just come from an interview with someone who had likely ratted him out as a rebel, and that Werner was directly tied to the authorities, would have kept his head down.

But genius and sanity weren’t the same thing and Tony wasn’t always sure the later was all it was cracked up to be.

Frauline Werner didn’t jump when he opened the door and cleared his throat, though she did go completely still for the barest of seconds, her hand still tucked into Stefen’s desk drawer.

“Ah, there we are.” She murmured a moment later, withdrawing with a clean sheath of paper and envelope in hand. Turning she flashed triumphant smile. “A house this large you’d think it would be easier to find good paper.”

“You must forgive us for making you go searching.” Tony drawled, not buying it for an instant. “Surely one of the maids could have fetched it for you?”

“Your cook called the girl away to help with supper and I did not wish to be more of a bother. Stefen and I are such old friends, I was sure he wouldn’t mind.” Werner waved away his concern as she marched from the room with an air of business.

“I’m on my way to meet with General Striker and simply must get this in the post before then. The ladies will be so happy to hear that Frauline Rogers is to be joining them. She’s a delightful girl. You must be very proud of your student. She speaks highly of _you_.”

Tony froze, fear darting through him, but the woman’s polite smile was unreadable. He simply nodded in acknowledgment and followed the woman out to the front door, because he was polite like that.

When he’d closed it behind her Tony stood for a moment with his heart thudding as his mind tore apart every word she’d said and every facial expression he’d observed, looking for some hint as to what was to come.

Once reported, he wondered, how long would it take for the police to come?

A soft sound in the hall behind him made him go stiff once more and he turned only to find Natacha standing there, still in her pristine uniform, the Nazi insignia curled against her breast like a crouching spider.

They simply stared at one another, the seconds crawling by.

Finally, she furrowed her brow looking deep in thought before her blue eyes seemed to focus on him and really acknowledge him.

“We ought to go hiking again soon.” She said slowly. “The little ones need to get used to the outdoors.”

She said it as if it was nothing, as if they were discussing the weather, but the ball of tension that had been sitting coiled in Tony’s gut for hours began to unravel and he had to brace himself against the door because suddenly his knees were weak.

“Are you sure?” he asked past the lump lodged in his throat. “Just for their sakes?”

She shook her head with a look of gravity that Tony thought had no business on the face of a child and said before turning away, “for Father.”

~*~*~*~*~

_Dear Captain Rogers,_

_By order of Minister_ _Joachim von Ribbentrop,_

 _You are commanded to appear at the Parliament building in Vienna_ _on July the 22 nd_

-

A sharp knock interrupted Steve's concentration and his pencil stilled. He halted as Bucky swept into the study without bothering to wait for a reply, quickly shutting the door behind him. Steve saw that he had an envelope clutched in one hand and could tell by the return of the brisk militant nature of his step that he'd brought news. Bucky might seem more carefree than Steve himself was but Steve knew he could still easily fall back into the role of a soldier, without even realizing it. In it's own way it was comforting to know he wasn't alone in that aspect.

"What's wrong?" He asked without preamble and Bucky withdrew a folded letter from the envelop and tossed it on top of the drawing that Steve was working on.

"His Highness the prince of Norway would like an audience. A private one if you catch my drift."

Steve's heart began to beat with anticipation as he opened the letter, skimming its contents.

… _the contents of the letter given to me by the incomparable Ms. Van Dyne are most troubling. If the nature of the plans outlined within have any validity or are allowed to come to fruition, I fear for the well being of my country. It is my father's hope that the crown can still call Germany friend and ally, and that we might put to rest these rumors and suspicions that might inhibit such a friendship. It is with great pleasure that we will be received in Vienna by the Foreign Minister at the end of the month. I look forward to making your acquaintance at that time._

It was signed in bold calligraphy ‘Thorson Christian Donald Carlson Blake Axel, Crown Prince of Norway’ and stamped with the royal seal.

Steve nodded, reaching for the discarded letter from Schmidt requesting his attendance at the meetings to be held in honor of the royal visit, all those official as well as social. He handed it to Bucky over his shoulder as he set the letter from the Prince aside and resumed his drawing.

"Why does Schmidt want you to be there?" Bucky asked gruffly a moment later and Steve replied without looking up from his work.

"Thorson asked to be received in Vienna rather than Berlin and they are accommodating his request. He'll be here long enough that he must be entertained and received with all manner of pomp and circumstance."

"And you're their dancing monkey?" Bucky guessed and Steve winced, but nodded.

"I think Frauline Van Dyne instructed him to ask about me."

"Makes sense," Bucky shrugged. "It's not like they haven't pulled this shit before. Phillips had you running around kissing babies after the war to convince their parents to put in with the Social Democrats. Fat lot of good it did."

Steve frowned darkly but found he didn't have much to combat that with. Though he wasn't always comfortable with it, people trusted him. They believed that when he said something was right or good that it must be true.

"We were tearing the country apart. A civil war was the last thing we needed after the great war Buck. I was trying to - " Steve tried but Bucky waved his words away impatiently.

"To help. I know. And you did. But now they want you to do the same for the Reich."

"I won't." Steve swore. "I may have to pretend. At least until the children are secure, but I will not fight for them Bucky."

He'd die first.

Bucky rolled his eyes, as if that should be obvious, and gestured to the drawing on Steve's desk.

"That for the Mag?"

He glanced down at the sketch of a young boy being lowered into the fiery depths of a volcano. In the next panel the boy's mother was pleading with the adventurer Stefen had created to feature as his title character in the series. He nodded.

"It's nearly finished. Captain Adventure has just agreed to rescue little Kurt from Dr. Doom. His mother is very appreciative."

Bucky tensed. He didn't have to read the issue to know what Steve was talking about.

They'd spent the day with the children in the city entertaining them with sights and stories. He'd worried about keeping them entertained with Tony unable to join them but they'd seemed happy enough in the back of the carriage that Steve had paid to drive them around.

It was hard not to be reminded of his boyhood riding with Bucky in the back of the caravan.

They'd stopped at a shop for a late lunch and they'd been halfway through the meal before they'd been approached by Jessika Duerr.

Jessika had seen them out and about and waited for an opportunity to catch Stefen alone. None forthcoming she'd approached them while they ate. While trading introductions and friendly chatter she'd slipped a folded scrap of paper with a telephone number inscribed upon it across the table before she'd made her excuses and departed.

"You sure Captain Adventure can handle that kind of heat?" Bucky asked quietly and Steve looked up from his sketch, where he'd been filling in the brown of Captain Adventure's eyes, attempting to capture the right sense of warmth and intelligence.

"He has his brother with him. They look out for each other."

Bucky just stared at him for a moment, looking unimpressed, and then sighed. He reached over and flicked the side of Steve's ear sharply with his thumb and forefinger and smiled when Steve hissed in annoyance.

"The bell rang for supper so you're late, as usual." Bucky said, saying nothing more of his worries or about the task looming darkly on the horizon.

He did however glance down once more at the stack of sketches Steve had finished with an appraising eye, before fixing Steve with a pointed stare that made him want to fidget like Artur caught sneaking sweets. Thankfully he was better than that.

"What?" Steve asked indignantly.

"Captain Adventure looks familiar," Bucky replied picking up one of the drawings to examine closer. Steve furrowed his brow, considering the artwork once more with new perspective. It took him a moment to realize, and when he did he felt a strange tingle of embarrassment. Even though there was nothing to be embarrassed for.

"Lots of men have dark hair. It's a passing resemblance," he grumbled, snatching the sketch back from Bucky and getting up from his chair.

"Of course," Bucky agreed as he silently watched Steve put away the drawings and lock the codebook in the bottom drawer of his desk.

"Charlotte will be happy you're back in Vienna." Bucky said to his turned back, and to anyone else it would have sounded like simply making conversation. But Steve knew Bucky too well for that.

"I suppose she will." He grunted in reply hopeful that Bucky would just let the matter drop. He wasn’t so lucky.

"I know you don't feel about her the same way you did about Margrit, but she's a good woman. You need a wife Steve."

Steve bristled, an old anger beginning to simmer in his gut as he and Bucky stared off, neither one willing to back down.

Steve had never faired well with women, always finding himself awkward and at a loss in conversation. The comradery of other men came naturally, easily, so he preferred it.

There was nothing wrong with that… had it ended there. But it didn't. He'd known it from those first stirrings at the cusp of manhood. He'd always wondered what Bucky knew. They’d never spoken of it, one didn’t speak about something of this nature, but Bucky knew him better than anyone.

Steve had never felt carnally for him, though he could honestly say he loved Bucky more than he loved himself and it was a feeling amply returned. Maybe Steve could have loved Bucky as a lover once, but it hadn’t happened that way. They had been brothers first and foremost and Steve didn’t need Bucky’s body to have his heart.

It had always been enough, so it was not that Stefen had languished or pined away for the unattainable… it was more that he had been lonely in the knowledge that one day Bucky, the closest person to him, would find someone and Steve would fall behind.

He’d expected to always be an outsider looking in on the happiness of others – while Bucky would go on to build a home and have a gaggle of babies.

But fate was funny. Bucky had lost Lara and Peggy had come along, and she'd paused when other women had kept walking, willing to see beyond Steve’s shortcomings to the man beneath…

And Steve had loved her with everything in him and gotten the life he’d never thought to have. He'd been glad that the old fear that he was incapable of loving a woman had proved to be false. He was capable, but Bucky was right.

He _didn't_ love Charlotte the same way he’d loved Margrit. And as fine a woman as Charlotte was, Steve did not want to spend what was left of his life in what would amount to a pretense.

He hardly needed to, he assured himself with a shake. He had a firm hand on his more wayward desires and what with seven children to his credit it wasn't like he had anything left to prove to anyone.

He was fine with his status of widower. He didn't have to marry ever again; and truth be told the more Stefen thought on the exhausting exercise of finding another woman who could make him feel the way that Peggy had made him feel, the more he just wanted to be alone.

He was fine alone.

Bucky, astute as ever, stepped closer to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and regarding him with a sobering seriousness.

"What happens to the children if something happens to you?"

There was a stab of pain in Stefen's chest at the thought.

No one would be kind to the orphaned children of a traitor.

They could not stay in Austria and he loathed the thought of splitting them up.

If he married Charlotte, a little voice reasoned, they’d have a mother and the protection of her name. They could go with her to the family estate in Switzerland and wait out the war.

A solid strategy only foiled by how distasteful he found the idea. What good would he be to a wife? If by some miracle he survived the war he could hardly imagine what happiness he would bring her chained to half a man with half a mind who couldn’t love her, forced to live under the shadow of his shame.

He just wanted to be left in peace, to close his eyes and not be chased, to drift away on a black river rocked into sleep, no fear of either dreams or waking. It was a terribly selfish desire, but Stefen had never been as good as he tried to be.

But the children… surely for them he would do anything?

He bit his lip, waring with himself.

“Stevie.” Bucky’s soft voice pulled him from his head, the soft light from the lamp seeming suddenly too bright as Stefen blinked away the vestiges of the haze. He wondered how much time he’d lost.

“You with me?” Bucky knew. Bucky always knew.

"Yes.” He cleared the block in his throat. “Yes… I'll think about Charlotte."

"Good." Relieved, Bucky threw an arm around his neck and pulled him close, a grateful smile tugging at his lips as he let their foreheads knock gently together.

"I'll always look out for you, Stefen.” Bucky promised. “End of the line, remember?"

Steve wrapped his arms around him in a bracing hug, suddenly needing to hold on.

Because he did know. He hadn’t forgotten, not even when he’d shut Bucky out. Not really. He’d just been in so much pain, and so selfish with it. He didn’t know how to make up for a slight of that magnitude. There weren’t enough words.

But maybe that was just fine, Stefen thought as Bucky hugged him back. They had never really needed words.

~*~*~

Supper was proving to be as delicious as Willamina had promised. After such an eventful day the children were full of enthusiasm and chatter.

The ebb and flow of their voices around the table was surprisingly pleasant. Steve found himself relaxed in a way that he just hadn't been able to feel in a while. It was hard to relax in the company of others, even loved ones (especially loved ones) when one never knew if today was going to be a 'bad day'.

There was little rhyme or reason to what set Steve off.

Of course it was better to avoid loud sounds and sudden shouts for the obvious reasons, but sometimes those didn't bother him at all while all it took was a word or a certain smell and he'd be back on the battlefield, smoke in his eyes and canons bursting in his ears.

The thought of losing control of his mind like that in public had shame twisting up his insides, but worse was the thought of losing himself and hurting one of his children (again).

It made socializing an exercise of extreme focus, constant conscious control. it was exhausting.

Peggy had possessed such a way about her. A way of making him feel safe even when he was feeble, groaning and sweating in the dark, a way of easing the shame and making him forget what a burden he'd become.

She’d known how to tell the children when it was okay to be loud and when they must be quiet without shattering their innocence and turning their home into a tomb.

He'd tried after she left... but even he could admit that he'd failed so spectacularly that it bordered on criminal.

He owed them so much that he'd never be able to repay.

But...

The house wasn't tomb like now, Steve mused quietly to himself, listening to Ian telling Natacha about the bookstore they'd visited in town and the other scattered bits of conversation floating around the table.

It was very... nice.

The sound of quiet laughter drew his eye down to the other end of the table where Tony had scooted his chair close to Sara's and was helping her cut her food. His gestures were bright and expressive as he spoke to her, babbling about something to do with machines and washing and a need to invent something that could keep up with messy children.

He felt a twinge of jealousy at the ease with which Tony dealt with the children. He never seemed to struggle with what to say like Steve did, or looked like he felt too big in his own body and in danger of going off from one moment to the next.

But his own shortcomings aside Steve was grateful for the man, more grateful than he knew how to express. Maybe that was why his character had taken on Tony's likiness?

And why not. Captain Adventure indeed.

Sure, Stark was odd and frustrating at the best of times (utterly infuriating at the worst) but he was also warm, kind, frighteningly intelligent, and so full of life it was a wonder he didn't shoot off sparks.

Magnetism, Steve decided. The man was magnetic.

And it wasn't just the children Stark had drawn in either. Steve could hardly fail to notice the maids simpering after him, or how Willamina always had an extra pot of coffee set aside for “the staff” in the mornings, or how his ever pragmatic housekeeper answered to that ridiculous pet name he'd given her. Pepper of all things.

But then again, Stefen thought with a wry smile, it had been a long time since he'd let anyone get away with calling him 'Cap', so he might very well be the pot in this situation.

"Sara, bambina, your ridiculous behavior has broken your father. He's smiling at us." he heard Tony say and Steve started, blinking slowly out of a daze to find that Tony was looking back at him now, a teasing grin on his lips.

Sara had what looked like half her meal on her face for no apparent reason other than she was enjoying making Tony work for each bite that made it to her mouth.

Frowning without much heat he scolded his three-year-old to eat properly, because he knew she knew how, and he'd seen that shit eating smirk too often in the mirror to be fooled by the soulful pout that followed.

And wasn't that a sad thing, Steve thought with a wince.

His three-year-old knew better than to make a mess while she ate… or draw more attention to herself than was necessary, because her father found it hard to hear her whines or her cries… or sometimes even to look at her.

Not while knowing that she was stuck with him, never knowing her mother's sure comforting touch.

"Oh good. He's brooding again. I was afraid we'd lost him forever." Tony faux whispered and he heard Sara giggle.

Steve focused on them again just in time to see her chummily shove her spoon in her mouth, smiling right up to her eyes, and Tony still watching him. His smile had gone a bit sad, and far too knowing for Steve's comfort.

He cleared his throat and feeling somewhat left footed made a stab at humor.

"I wouldn't want you to think I was broken beyond repair."

Tony's smile got a little bit brighter.

"Heaven forbid." His eyes dropped to Stefen's full plate and his mouth pulled back into a slight frown. "Wouldn't want you to starve either Cap."

Steve looked back down at his plate. He hadn't eaten much, but he was not all that hungry.

"Father, don't you like your fish?" Ian asked with concern and Steve mustered up a smile and took another bite of the Pike that Willlamina had prepared.

"It's delicious. I just had a lot at lunch today."

"No you didn't."

Steve tensed, surprised by the confidence with which Ian challenged him.

He felt Stark's smug grin from across the table but he looked up to confirm it anyway and grit his teeth, remembering what Natacha had told him about Tony encouraging them to question their authorities.

He'd have to speak to him about that. While he could admit he agreed with the sentiment it was a stupid thing to say to a child, especially in times like these.

"You only ate a few bites of your soup. I watched you." Ian insisted matter of factly.

Steve noticed that the rest of the table had fallen quiet and he could hear Bucky snickering behind his hand. If Peggy hadn't ingrained better table manners in him he might have been tempted to flick his food at him.

"I guess you're right then," he replied stiffly. "I must have been thinking of breakfast."

"You left half your plate at breakfast too." Natacha added dryly and Stefen pinned her with a hard look (because she certainly knew what she was doing) before twisting his face into a smile that felt plastic.

Officially trapped he stabbed another forkful of fish and mulishly began to eat under the watchful gazes of his children.

"Satisfied?" He couldn't help grumbling and Natacha nodded primly, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

The food was tasteless in his mouth and under so many watchful eyes it felt like lumps of wet clay landing in his belly, an unpleasant sensation that he was fearful would result in a desperate need to be ill if he continued.

"Did your Da tell you that I've been working with Janneke Van Dyne?" Bucky announced to the table at large, drawing all eyes to him and Steve sagged in relief.

"The Frauline Van Dyne?" Natacha asked, her eyes widening somewhat in awe. "We've heard her on the radio."

Bucky nodded.

"I've got her and a few of my other groups singing at the palace in Vienna next week for the crown prince of Norway."

Maria's mouth fell open.

"A real prince?" She sighed wistfully, eyes round and dreamlike. "I wish I could sing like Frauline Van Dyne."

"Keep practicing with Stark and one day you'll be better." Turning to Stefen he said, "You aught to let me represent the children. They're really something."

Steve stiffened in anger as excited gasps and pleading faces turned towards him in the wake of Bucky's words. Was he out of his mind?

"No."

Predictably a chorus of wails and protests followed and the pressure building behind Steve's eyes became a dull ache.

"Your father is right." Tony said, over the children's protests, and the table fell quiet once more. Steve blinked at him, surprised to find Tony of all people in his corner.

"But we're good aren't we?" James pouted.

Tony took a delicate bite of his fish and shrugged.

"Good yes, but good enough yet to sing for princes?" He shook his head doubtfully. "You'll have to work very hard to be ready for that."

As the other children promised to work very hard and pay close attention to their music lessons, Péter stayed quiet, his brow furrowed in thought. The intense focus of his stare made Stefen's neck itch.

"Is something the matter Péter?" He finally asked.

"Does this mean you're leaving again?"

Once more the conversation halted, the others going silent as they turned to him for an answer, the good mood that had prevailed over the meal slowly draining in the prospect of his departure.

Before he could even formulate an answer Péter had sighed, dropping his gaze to his plate in order to pick at what remained of his meal as he bit out, "How long will you be gone this time?"

He didn't know. There was so much to do, royal visits aside. People to meet with, pieces to set in place in order to strengthen their network. A month maybe? Two? If Thorson agreed to help them weaponize like he hoped it could be more...

"A few weeks I think..." he began but the look on Tony's face made him falter. It betrayed neither the anger he might have expected or even the disappointment he'd so often threaded into the wording of his letters.

It was accepting. There was no fall because he'd been expecting this and nothing better, because he'd learned long ago not to put his faith in others or else face bitter disappointment.

Steve didn't like it.

He flashed back to that day outside the music room, it seemed so long ago now, when Tony had admitted to idolizing those old war stories about him. He'd said he'd sobered up, kept going despite the horror he'd lived through because Steve had given him courage. Tony wasn't a boy anymore but Péter still was...

Steve's heart began to pound as he considered his next move and the consequences that might follow.

There would be no more hiding. No more safety in sheep's clothing. The end would come that much quicker.

That terrified him. But it was suddenly brilliantly clear that it didn't matter anymore.

Stefen took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting the tension drain from his body – blinking rapidly to dispel the betraying prick of moisture in his eyes and refocused on the faces of his children staring back at him without much hope.

"But I suppose..." he pondered slowly until even Péter had looked up from his plate, cautious but undoubtedly curious. "… I suppose if it drags out, like it did last time. You'll just have to come stay with me."

Steve swore he could have heard a pin drop and then not a beat later the table seemed to explode with excitement as the children (all but Péter) clamored out of their chairs to hug and touch and tug, all talking at once and getting progressively louder to be heard over the others. He couldn't really distinguish one voice from the other, what with his ears ringing and his heart pounding too loudly.

For a terrible lurching moment, he felt lost in that sea of sound and moving bodies until a sharp whistle pierced the din and silence reined once more. Steve's eyes met Tony's, filled with relief.

Tony lowered his fingers from his mouth. And though he was frowning sternly at the children there was something so bright and _happy_ in his eyes that it carried no sting.

"While I'm sure we're all very excited, sit back down and eat. I for one refuse to be seen in Vienna with children who don't know how to behave at table."

Tony had barely finished before they were tripping over each other back into their seats.

Péter stared down at his plate, shoulders tight, looking angrier than he’d been before. He looked on the verge of saying something but he bit his tongue.

Steve didn’t really need him to say anything.

Artur, it seemed had the same reservations as Péter, but the contrast between them couldn’t have been more painful, because Artur was all trust and innocence. He was still so eager to place his faith in his father where it hadn’t been earned.

But that’s what happened wasn’t it, one minute they were seven and you were their hero and the next…

Tony was right. Péter was going to be a man in a few short years and Steve would barely know him.

Meanwhile his seven-year-old was leaning forward, blue eyes shimmering with fearful hope as he pleaded, "Can we really come to Vienna with you Father? _Please_."

"Not initially," Stefen reminded him, clearing his throat of the suspicious lump that had lodged there. "But if it carries on longer than a week or two... I'll speak to Herr Stark about it."

God help them all, Steve thought desperately.

But he really would.

~*~~~*~

_O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;_

_Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,_

_For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,_

_For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;_

_Here Captain! dear father!_

_This arm beneath your head!_

_It is some dream that on the deck,_

_You’ve fallen cold and dead._

_-Oh Captain, My Captain. Walt Whitman._

 

Later that night Tony found himself in the kitchen attempting to make a nightcap (and having about as much success as one could expect in a home kitchen) with Willamina’s help when the back door burst open. He jumped, spilling and scalding himself on the hot milk Willimina had beat into foam, cursing his own jumpiness.

The disturbance was not, as his hammering heart still seemed to fear, the arrival of the police but Hammer. The toady butler was wide eyed and practically bursting with news as he flew into the kitchen, his unbuttoned coat flapping about his legs (and really who wore a coat in summertime anyway) ruining what might have otherwise been a very posh look.

“Virginia!” Hammer called anxiously, eyes darting every which way as if he expected to find Pepper hiding somewhere. “Virginia come quick!”

He dashed to give the service bell a violent tug even as Willamina was turning down the stove were a pot of chocolate was warming in order to rush to his side.

“Herr Hammer, is everything alright?”

“No, it’s Herr Boesch, who brings the milk. Well the order didn’t come this morning which I told Frau Hogan was terribly unprofessional.” Hammer began to explain in a rush of excitement. He paused only momentarily at the sound of Pepper’s rapid footsteps and the woman’s appearance in the kitchen door, Harold just behind her.

“Herr Hammer what is the –” she began but Hammer didn’t wait, rushing forward to grab the woman by the arms and hiss lowly as if he expected someone to overhear.

“Virginia I’ve just come from town. I called earlier about the milk and eggs that should have been delivered and never heard back. Which was so odd I just knew something had to be going on. You’ll never believe but they’ve arrested Herr Boesch!”

Peppers hands flew to her mouth in shock and Harold wrapped a consoling arm around her, face gone a bit pale. Next to Tony Willamina took a sharp breath.

“On what charges?!” She demanded.

Hammer turned to pin her with a disgusted stare.

“He’s a radical! His own nephew turned him in. He’s been consorting with communists.”

“I don’t believe it.” Willimina spat, “Ollie is a good man. His poor wife must be devastated.”

“He’s a dog!” Hammer sneered and Tony balled his fists. “If it were up to his sort this country would go to the devil. We’d still be at the mercy of the jews!”

“Still, it is a terrible thing for a wife to lose her husband.” Pepper growled through the prick of tears. “Willaminia we’ll have to make something to bring over –”

“Have you gone mad?!” Hammer interjected, looking completely scandalized. “Tarnish the captains good name by associating with known radicals! He won’t have it! He’ll be furious if you even suggest it. Nobody in this household is to even look in their direction.”

As Hammer continued to argue with the two women Tony kept his expression bland but tuned their voices out, neither needing nor desiring to hear more.

He was sad of course to hear about Ollie Boesch, but he had never really met the man. Beyond the brief glimpses caught when Herr Boesch came to make his weekly deliveries they’d never had an occasion to interact, but he’d seemed a gentle sort. His good mornings and well-wishes had always struck Tony as perfectly neighborly.

But now Ollie Boesch was in a jail cell somewhere, his future grim. Turned in by his own nephew.

~~*~*~

Tony paused outside the captain’s study, unsure why his heart had begun a steady pounding in his chest. He wiped his sticky (not sweaty mind you) palms on his trousers and shook off the uncharacteristic bout of nerves (because if the likes of Frauline Werner didn't make him sweat, neither should Stefen Rogers) and rapped smartly on the study door.

There was a brief pause and then a moment where Tony could hear shuffling coming from behind the closed door. He thought he heard the scrape of a drawer opening and then closing before soft footfalls.

A moment later Stefen stood in the doorway as imposing a figure as ever despite his hanging suspenders, rolled up sleeves and untucked shirt. Tony blinked in surprise at the man's rumpled state. It wasn't as undone as he'd been on the lake (and not nearly as undone as Tony wanted to undo him) but leisure certainly agreed with the man.

"Yes?" Stefen asked, somewhat impatient, after the silence had drawn on long enough to call Tony's mental health into question.

"Nightcap for you Cap?" Tony offered the steaming mug in his hands with a cheeky grin. Stefen gave him a peevish glance, no doubt because of Tony's continued insistence on using the nickname, but reached to take the mug just the same.

"Bit late for coffee," he remarked and Tony pretended shock.

"Heretic!"

"Somehow I doubt God has so strong an opinion on the subject."

Stefen's eyes glinted with amusement but if he smiled, Tony couldn't know as he chose that moment to sip from his drink. A pleased sound hummed in his throat and Tony tried not to fixate on the way it moved as Stefen swallowed, but he really couldn't miss the way that Stefen's pink tongue chased the sweet frothy residue left on the rim.

Staring deeply into the cup like a gypsy about to read tealeaves Stefen remarked with surprise, "That's very good. Your Cappuccino?"

"Yes..." Tony swallowed slowly as he fought to drag his brain out of the mud (he was a monk after all not a saint). "Yes, with a bit of coco and rum. Willamina is a treasure."

"That I know. Thank you for the drink."

"You're very welcome Stefen," Tony took a deep breath. "But it's not the sole reason I'm here."

Stefen stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching Tony’s face carefully before he nodded shortly.

"Why don't you come in."

He stood back and allowed room for Tony to enter the room and Tony crossed the threshold without pause. Once decided on a course he rarely dithered.

He’d expected Stefen's office to mirror what little he'd seen of the bedroom: richly furnished but sparsely decorated, bare of the typical assortments and clutter that marked personal spaces.

The captain's study was equally sparse, but it wasn't colder for it. The lack of heavy furnishings made the small room seem open and spacious and Tony could imagine that the light when daylight spilled in from the large windows reached every corner of the room. Late at night the view of the back gardens and the lake beyond under a starlit sky was a painter’s dream.

Stefen had discarded his jacket on the couch tucked unobtrusively against the wall as well as his shoes, the toes of which were poking out from underneath it. There was clutter on the desk in the form of folders (stuffed full of papers and unanswered correspondence) and to Tony's bemusement what looked to be pencils and charcoals.

He glanced once more at Stefen, noticing this time that the tips of his fingers were stained black. There in the middle of the room with his bare feet and dirty fingers sipping on his coffee he should have looked ridiculous. But of course he didn't, Tony sighed. The word adorable came to mind, and promptly made his brain feel like it might melt and leak out his ears.

"Would you care for a seat?" Stefen asked pointedly. He was clearly uncomfortable with being stared at and Tony wondered if it was because he wasn't as put together as he normally was. Even Tony wasn't vain enough to presume that it was because of his presence alone.

Tony took the offered seat, bypassing the open chair opposite the desk to settle on the couch- moving the captains jacket onto the arm. Stefen stood for a moment, lips pursed, before deciding to take his seat behind the desk, angling himself toward Tony.

"What can I do for you Stark?" he asked all business and Tony responded in kind.

"Captain, it has come to my attention that one of your neighbors, a Herr Boesch was placed under arrest last night."

Stefen was very good at keeping his expression unreadable but watching as closely as he was, Tony thought he knew what the tightening of his shoulders meant.

"Yes. I had heard." Stefen said in reply, voice low and expressionless.

"A terrible shock to his family I imagine." Tony kept his tone equally level.

"I imagine so."

Stefen didn’t offer anything more, waiting silently for Tony to either add more or take his leave, giving nothing of his thoughts on either Herr Boesch or the state of his family. Tony wondered if that was because he feared being overheard or if it was because he was unsure if he could trust Tony with his real thoughts. Probably both. Tony had his own secrets to guard, so he understood.

"I must admit, before I came, I had my reservations about undertaking the education of seven children, Captain.” He licked lips gone dry and took a small breath. “But they have proved to be fine students. I’m fond of them but… I worry for them."

"You worry, Herr Stark?" Stefen asked with a hard edge.

"Yes. Captain." Tony answered meaningfully. "I worry for their futures."

Stefen looked away and Tony braced himself for any number or response (each more negative than the last) when the captain refused to take his meaning. Coming here to intrude on his solitude this way and say the things he felt he must had been a risk, one that he was not all that hopeful of seeing paid off.

For a long moment the captain said nothing before he turned back to meet Tony's gaze with a startling level of frankness.

"I worry for them too."

Tony's pulse leaped uncomfortably but he ignored the sensation, leaning forward, heart hammering as he informed Stefen, "You ought to keep the day room better stocked."

"Pardon?"

Stefen was just as confused by this as he ought to be but Tony did not drop his gaze, staring intently as he continued.

"Frauline Werner could not find an envelope this afternoon and was forced to fetch one from your drawers. She was certain you would not mind."

And there, Tony saw Stefen’s eyes widen in realization before he nodded, humming to himself in consideration.

"Right, of course not.” Stefen murmured. “Still, we'll have to order more for the house.”

Tony nodded, relief washing through him and rose from his seat, confident that the captain had received his message and the warning in it.

"Tony."

Tony paused at the door and turned back to look at Stefen at the sound of his voice. The captain had risen from his chair and there was such a look of sincerity on his face and gratitude in his every word as he spoke that Tony’s chest felt tight.

"Thank you for telling me."

Tony swallowed and mustered a cheerful grin.

“Oh Captain, my Captain.” He departed with a cheeky wink and a smart salute, gratified at the annoyed huff of breath he heard Stefen release as he shut the door behind him.

~*~**~*~

Bucky sat out on the dock, lost in thought as he looked out over the lake. The days passed too quickly now that there was an end in sight, and Bucky was making a point to spend as much time with the children before he and Steve had to depart for Vienna as possible.

They didn’t expect trouble so soon, but only a fool forgot the possibility and didn’t prepare for it. That was the nature of treason and subterfuge, you hoped for the best and expected the noose.

Even Steve wasn’t holed up in his room as Bucky would once have expected. Though, he wasn’t sure if that had more to do with the danger they were stepping in to or the cajoling of that mad little monk Bucky couldn’t know for sure.

He had his suspicions, but he didn’t like not knowing for sure. He wasn’t used to not being able to predict Stefen. Even at his most stupid and stubborn Bucky could always predict Steve, read him like a damn book, but Stark was an unknown variable who had already proven adept at getting Steve to react in ways that Bucky would not have put his money on.

Bucky grit his teeth.

He’d resolved to try and dig up some dirt on the man by going to the children (because they were the best source) starting with James because Péter while the eldest was too trusting in nature. Watching him and Stark together it was easy to see that Péter liked the monk and anything he had to say would follow along the lines of burgeoning hero worship.

Natacha would typically be his go to source of information. He trusted her instincts and her insights, young as she was, but on this particular issue his gut told him that James was the one he needed to talk to. Natacha was struggling with a lot of things right now and any one of those things might color her perception.

James on the other hand had far less on his shoulders. Plopped squarely in the middle of the bunch James got tossed back and forth between ‘those too little’ and those ‘old enough to take care of themselves’.

Bucky loved the kid, but could admit that on his best days he was stubborn and manipulative and to manipulate others required knowledge of them, perception, insight, and sound strategy.

James had lost his mother too young and his father had not been well enough to pick up the pieces. He’d been left to pick himself up. Which he did.

He just chose to come up swinging and spitting in people’s eye while he was at it.

Bucky smiled at the thought. He and his little shadow were alike that way. Bucky’s mother had always warned there was power in names. First time he’d held the little brat, Bucky had determined that James Rogers was going to get a better hand out of life than he himself had been dealt.

So much for promises. His mother had warned him about making those too.

He’d asked James about Stark during their outing while they’d gathered firewood when the others had been swimming.

What he’d gathered: Stark was smart (seemed to know just about everything) and what he didn’t know was easily made up for by sharp wit and a scarily absorbent mind. He could leave a conversation knowing next to nothing about the agricultural history of the turnip in eastern Europe, and come back after a few hours of reading an expert on the subject.

Stark thought poorly of the Reich (a stupid and dangerous thing to let anyone catch onto).

Stark did not heed authority. He said what he pleased, went where he pleased, did what he pleased, based on his own judgment and (scarily) encouraged the children to follow the same principle.

Stark liked the children and the children liked him. Because somehow despite stripping away the rules and structure that Stefen used to govern their lives, the children (for the most part) remained well behaved as well as respectful. Even James.

 _“Tony doesn’t mind us calling him Tony. I like it better than Herr Stark anyway, and I like that he knows so much about making things. It’s fun.”_ James had said.

Stark didn’t demand respect or loyalty the same way that Stefen did. But people gave it to him just as readily. Likely because his competence was undeniable, his cleverness engaging, and his charismatic nature made all the more pleasant by the genuine warmth of his personality.

Stark cared about them and leveled with them in a way that others didn’t. They were drawn to that, like plants to sunlight.

It wasn’t just the children either.

Stark was dangerous to Steve.

Bucky wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do about that, because as true as that was it was also undeniably true that Stark was good for them. He’d been good for this family.

Bucky paused in his playing to draw his gaze back to where the kids were playing in the water. His eyes were drawn to Ian who was cutting a noisy line up and down the length of the dock, dogged in his efforts to become an accomplished swimmer and pleased as punch at the completion of each lap.

“He wants to be ready next time.” Bucky looked down to find Natacha bobbing near his feet, red braids turned almost brown by the water.

“What for?” he asked, though he thought he had some idea already.

“James could have drowned.” Natacha replied simply, as if that was answer enough. Bucky supposed it was. He snorted under his breath, shaking his head fondly even though something in his chest had begun to feel tight.

Natacha reached and without needing her to ask Bucky set his violin aside and reached down to help pull her onto the dock. She dripped water everywhere but he didn’t mind it as she took a seat beside him, tucking her knees up against her chest, and letting her toes wiggle over the edge of the dock.

So much time out in the sun was bronzing her skin and had brought out a smattering of freckles on her nose. It had been a few years but he was glad to see that hadn’t changed.

There was a lot of Margrit in her. Enough that she’d have no problem becoming a fine (proper) young woman and make a good match one day. But there was a lot of Steve in her too.

And maybe some of the uncles would have rejected Steve’s children the way they’d rejected Steve for taking after his gaje father, but as far as Bucky was concerned they were Rom.

And sure, little Maria’s dark hair and dark eyes could be attributed to her mother when she was locked inside the house all day keeping pale as a ghost, but under the summer sun?

Possibly it made him an asshole but Bucky was privately very pleased that nature wasn’t going to let Stefen burry all his sins. Not forever.

Bucky smirked, and Natacha rubbed her cheek, and then the bridge of her nose. The motion was quick but Bucky read the self-consciousness in it before she tucked her hand back underneath her knees. He was still staring at her he realized and laughed.

“Relax. I wasn’t sneering at you Tacha.”

“I should probably go inside. I wish I didn’t get so dark in the sun,” she sighed.

“Sun makes everybody dark,” Bucky replied with a shrug. Pressing his wrist up against her arm he said, “See. I don’t let it ruin my day.”

Natacha stared, and somehow managed to give him the impression that she was rolling her eyes at him without moving them at all.

“You’re a man. It’s different for you.”

Bucky grinned, arching an eyebrow at her.

“You’re a little girl Tacha. Why are you so worried about how you look?”

Her face didn’t change much but Bucky could feel her pulling away and he frowned, wondering at it.

“Because it matters.” She answered slowly, staring out at the water with her chin propped up on her knees. “I’m not as little as you think. You don’t have to hide it from me.”

And wasn’t that the god awful truth of it. Twelve years old and already she knew too much about the way the world worked. Bucky sighed, heart aching deep in his chest. He’d give just about everything if he could take the shadows from her eyes, remove the weight off of the children’s shoulders and give them the life they so deserved. Free of worry, free of shame.

“Did Father tell you that they’re making me a group leader?” She asked, after a long moment of quiet and Bucky tensed, throat going tight.

“Yeah. I heard. How do you feel about that?”

“Proud.” She answered without so much as missing a beat, tone as matter of fact as you please. Perfect and proper in anyone’s ears. He hadn’t expected anything less of her.

Bucky smiled sadly, and reached out to tug on the end of one of her dripping braids.

“Yeah, well I’m proud of you. Your father is too. He’s not good at showing it but he is.”

She didn’t respond to that, turning her head instead to consider him with sharp blue eyes.

“Are you happy to be going back to Vienna?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer that. There was a part of Bucky that was looking forward to returning to work, for however long he would have it. His business had suffered since the onset of Anschluss. The German public had a low opinion of music and other forms of "frivolous" entertainment, now that the Reich was urging the people to focus on what they considered far nobler pursuits.

But if Bucky knew anything it was that music was a hard thing to get rid of. It was too much a part of people. Even the dourest of Nazi supporters had a tune or a chant that brought sweet memories, and privately Bucky thought that as long as that was so maybe there was still hope for this world yet.

The state of things now meant finding work for his musicians was only getting harder as the opportunities dried up and travel just became more and more impossible. It wouldn't be long now until the work was gone completely. And Bucky didn't kid himself. With what he and Steve had going, he'd be lucky not to face a firing squad long before then.

“It will be nice getting back to work for a while,” he admitted. “I’ve got to get some things in order but I’ll be back.”

The artists that Bucky had signed were like his children in a way, in the fact that he’d helped them birth careers and had diligently fostered them over the years. He took care of them and they took care of him in return and it was just one more bitter taste on his tongue having to cut them loose. Some of them didn’t have much to go back to.

Bucky was the lucky one.

There was a splash as Natacha slipped back into the water, jerking Bucky out of his thoughts. A moment later she appeared above the water. She wiped her eyes and peered back at him just long enough to flash a bright little grin and say “good”, before she disappeared again.

~*~*~*~

“… and after breakfast I’d like to go over some documents with you. I think they could tell us a lot about their strategy. Poland makes the most sense to me as a starting point but the talk surrounding Czechoslovakia can’t be ignored.” Steve was saying as he rifled through the stack of papers on his desk.

Bucky had found him that morning already neck deep in intel. He only knew Stefen had made it to bed at all the night before because he’d ushered him there himself. He wasn’t surprised by it. They left for Vienna the next day, and there was still a lot to put together before then.

“Did you really mean it?” Bucky asked, wandering toward the window. The curtains were open because even if he’d never articulate as much Steve had always liked to watch the sun rise.

Bucky leaned his hip against the edge of the desk and waited.

“Mean what?” Steve asked distractedly, not even looking up, as he flipped through the file in his hands.

“Vienna.” Bucky turned to look at him, waiting. After a moment Steve looked up, brow furrowed in confusion. It was a second or two more before he seemed to catch on to Bucky’s meaning and his mouth tightened.

“I said I’d think about it Bucky.”

“I’m sure you will.” Bucky shrugged, reaching for a cigarette and the lighter he kept in his pocket. Steve watched him stoically as Bucky lit up, flicked the silver lighter closed and observed Steve like he was inspecting something interesting under a microscope.

Steve’s mouth twitched, brow arching as if to ask why he had to be so dramatic and Bucky couldn’t help a huff of amusement.

“They see you out and about with the kids they’re not going to let you keep them out of it anymore.” Bucky stated the obvious.

It was quiet for a long moment while they both thought.

He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to hear but he was pretty sure he’d know it when he heard it. It had meant everything to Steve, keeping the kids out of society as it had crumbled around them. It would kill them both, to watch them get plugged into the Nazi machine… to lose them.

Steve set down the file in his hands rising silently to join Bucky at the window. It was another moment before he spoke.

“I know.”

Huh. Bucky searched his face as if the clues to his change of heart could be etched there, despite the openness of Steve’s expression he found nothing forthcoming. He wasn’t a hundred percent certain what had brought it on but he was sure now that Steve really was serious about the decision.

Honestly, even though it would bring its own set of troubles… Bucky was relieved.

Releasing a breath of smoke Bucky shook his head and knocked Steve’s shoulder with his. “Well don’t you think we ought to teach them a thing or two before we just toss them out of the frying pan?”

~*~*~*~

Tony was in an unprecedented predicament.

The captain and Bakhuizen had arrived for breakfast that morning and announced that they would be taking the children for the day, giving Tony the freedom to do as he pleased. Tony had been forced to ask him to repeat what he’d said twice before it had really sunk in that Stefen not only intended to spend the entire day with his children unaided… he also seemed _excited_ about it.

He and Ian could have been twins in that moment what with the familiar determined clench of jaws and earnest expressions.

Stefen was clearly on some sort of mission, and somehow it involved the children.

It was because Tony was a suspicious bastard (and not a worried mother hen) that he didn’t ‘take the summer air’ (as Bakhuizen had so helpfully suggested) instead he spent his day in the garage tinkering with the cars and pretending to keep Harold company when they both weren’t avidly watching the activity in the back yard where Captain Rogers and his surly childhood friend appeared to be engaged in teaching his children how to brawl.

That alone was strange but could perhaps be reasoned away by… well _something,_ truth was Tony wasn’t too bothered with trying to reason it out, occupied as he was with staring.

In his defense, the captain made for a beautiful sight, all quick powerful movements and grace. He was smiling in such pure unfettered enjoyment, feeling every moment, every raw grunt and breath. Tony had never seen anything so alive as Stefen was alive while sparring with his best friend.

He wondered (though he shouldn’t) if combat was the only way Stefen knew how to let go. Would he be so raw, so unbridled, with a lover? Somehow he thought that even in bed it would be a fight with Stefen. Every moment of pleasure pulled from him in some strange parody of force because he’d never just give it up. Stefen didn’t do anything easy.

Tony clenched his fingers tighter around the wrench he held.

He’d never been more sure there wasn’t really a God.

~*~~*~

“Come on Stevie!”

Bucky’s laugh was cut short with a grunt of breath as he grabbed Steve around the middle, sending them tumbling back into the dirt. Steve hit the ground with an umfh, breath driving from his chest.

He stared up at the bright blue sky for a dazed, brilliant, moment before he sucked in a lungful of air and he flipped over, managing to get his feet under him just in time to dodge a kick to the ribs.

He heard one of the girl’s gasp and sprang up, exhilaration pulling his lips into an almost feral grin.

“Don’t worry, I’m too fast for him,” Steve assured Maria who had her hands clutched tightly to her chest in worry.

“That so?” Bucky laughed swinging at Steve’s weaker side. He countered the blow, grappling for Bucky’s shoulder in order to pull him in close and bring his knee up.

Though Bucky grunted in discomfort Steve wasn’t worried. They were both pulling their punches. It had been years had since he’d wrestled with Bucky but it was just as familiar, and yes, just as fun, as he remembered it from when they were young men.

The boys had gotten progressively more vocal throughout the lesson, eager to try the moves themselves. Steve pushed Bucky by the shoulders and sent him stumbling backward.

“That’s fighting dirty.” Péter remarked with an air of accusation from the sidelines, but Steve let it go, chuckling as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Who do you think taught me that move?” he asked, offering Bucky a hand to help pull him to his feet.

“Was tired of your Da always trying to be a hero, taking on people twice his size.” Bucky, dirt and grass stained, was grinning brightly even as he struggled to catch his breath. He limped over to Maria and knelt down to place a smacking kiss against her cheek and rub the top of her head.

“Anyone ever messes with you make sure you find one of us. And if we’re not around, better to run than to fight. Alright darling?”

Maria nodded solemnly.

“You can come get me Maria! I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.” Artur told her, puffing out his chest. Turning pleading eyes to Steve he asked, “Can we try now?”

“Alright, alright. Artur partner with James, Natacha with Ian. Péter why don’t you and I-” Steve began but Péter interjected.

“I want to partner with Uncle Bucky.” Steve felt a pinch of what he only realized was hurt when Péter crossed his arms and impertinently drawled, “You said he taught you everything you know anyway.”

Steve clenched his teeth, suppressing a swell of irritation.

“Very well. Péter you’re with Bucky. The girls and I will critique.”

~*~*~*~*~

Bucky had thought that after agreeing to spend the day sparring with the children that Steve would be insistent on going back to his office in order to finalize their preparation for the meeting in Vienna; and maybe he would have, if not for the monk.

When they’d finally ended the lesson so that the children could have time to wash up and make themselves presentable for supper, Stark had appeared on the terrace with a tray of refreshments. While the children had rushed to slack their thirst and generally add the iced water to the sweat soaking their jumpers, Stark had poured a glass for Stefen and drawn him into a conversation about…. Mechanical wash tubs? Or maybe it was soap machines. It sounded like gibberish to Bucky but Stefen had seemed amused by it.

In any case, Steve had ended up agreeing to take a look at something he and Harold had been working on in the garage after supper.

The big clock in the sitting room seemed to tick louder and Bucky glanced up to read the time with a scowl.

Bedtime was approaching, Virginia had already come to collect Sara for a bath.

He needed a drink.

“Hasn’t anyone ever warned you about sour faces?” an upside down face appeared in Bucky’s vision as James snickered at him. The boy was stretched up on the tip of his toes leaning over the arm of the lounge chair that Bucky was laying on so that their noses were almost brushing.

“Yeah they get stuck.” Bucky replied making a nasty face with tongue poking out and James giggled.

At that moment Artur looked up from where he and Maria sat in front of the fire place playing with her dolls.

“Uncle Bucky where’s Tony?”

Ian, sitting in the comfortable chair not far away looked up from his book with a thoughtful frown.

“It’s leisure time… but he usually joins us.”

Bucky opened his mouth to answer but Natacha beat him to it. Not looking up from her magazine she turned a page and answered tonelessly, “He’s walking in the garden with Father.”

Bucky didn’t know how the hell she could know that since she’d been with them all evening and even he had lost track of Stefen’s movements, but he didn’t doubt her. But just what the hell was Stefen doing in the damned garden, when they had a rebellion to organize anyway?

It was damn typical was what it was. Stefen had a bad track record with a pair of big brown eyes and a sharp tongue. Or was that good? Cause god only knew Steve wouldn’t have survived childhood without Bucky and Margrit had been the best thing to happen to him in his adulthood so maybe it was a good track record?

Didn’t matter. Whichever it was Stark was a growing problem.

“Uncle Bucky, when we’re in Vienna do you think father would let us meet the prince?” Maria asked suddenly, pulling Bucky from his thoughts.

“I don’t know sweetheart, princes are very busy people,” he hedged. Thankfully Maria seemed to accept this, mouth only pulling down in the slightest of frowns. “Why not ask him. I’m sure if it’s at all possible he’d love to meet a lovely little lady like you.”

Her cheeks turned a faint pink as her eyes went dreamy with excitement.

“I could sing for him. Tony taught me a song in Italian and one in French. Do you think the prince speaks either of those?”

“He just might.” Bucky chuckled. “Seems like the sort of thing a prince would know.”

“Do you really think it’s wise, getting her hopes up like this?” Péter, who was sitting in front of the coffee table with a weathered book open in front of him as he scribbled in a journal, looked up to say.

As Maria shrank Bucky sighed, sensing an argument on the horizon. Really it had been brewing for days.

Sitting up on the lounge he asked, “You got something on your mind Péter?”

“Not particularly,” Péter, turning back to his notes, said in that snide way the young were so good at. But of course he wasn’t done, following it up a moment later with a mutter.

“We all know that Father isn’t going to send for us. So why does he bother pretending.”

Bucky kind of wanted to box the kids ears but he did his best to stifle the urge. It helped remembering that Péter had been served up his fair share of Stefen’s particular brand of bullshit, and even if _he_ thought fourteen was nearly grown he was still a kid where it counted.

“Péter your Da said he’d talk it over with Herr Stark and he will.” Bucky reminded him, but Péter didn’t seem to be in the mood for it.

“He said he would think about it. I’m old enough to know that means no.” he insisted, dropping the pen in his hand loudly on the table.

“No it doesn’t.” James shot back with a worried frown. “He said that if it was going to take as long as last time, he’d send for us. Father’s always gone for ages!”

Bucky winced gearing up to say something when Péter fixed his little brother with a sneer and said, “Yes well, he only said that to make us leave him alone. That’s all he really wants.”

“ _Dosta_!” Bucky barked, the sound harsh in the quiet of the room and Péter jumped. He didn’t feel bad for it though. It hurt him down to his soul sometimes watching the children struggle, but the kid was dead wrong and way out of line.

“I hear you say something like that again I’ll smack you. Understand me čhavo?” Bucky growled at him. “Damn it, Péter you don’t know the first thing about what he’s sacrificed for you, so that you don’t grow up like we did.”

It was deathly quiet in the room which made Maria’s quiet sniffles and Péter’s heavy breathing seem all the louder. It was the fear that he couldn’t quite hide that helped cool some of Bucky’s anger. He’d gotten his fair share of smacks over the head growing up (most of them well earned) but Stefen’s children had rarely required strict punishments and if he was honest with himself, Bucky was loath to deliver them.

Péter was a child, he kept reminding himself, and like all children his understanding of the world was narrow and self-focused. Licking dry lips Bucky took a deep calming breath and gestured for Péter to come to him. The boy wisely complied without complaint, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast.

Bucky glanced around at the others and waved them over as well. When they’d all gathered around him he gestured for them to sit.

“You never met your grandfather and I’ll tell you something, It’s a good thing.” He began after a moment, choosing his words with care. “Smooth talking _gaje_ , good for nothing but running his mouth and drinking his money and it wasn’t like we had any of that to spare.

“He took off when your Da was Ian’s age, thought he’d earn more money without the family in tow. The money came in at first, every few months your Baka would get a parcel with some coins hidden in it. Wasn’t much but it meant we ate that day.

“But then they stopped coming. That was bad because the whole family was starving and nobody could find work unless they were willing to get shipped off to the salt mines, and that was a death sentence. So you’d go stand in a line all day hoping for a days work and they’d take one look at you and spit.

“But your Da, people saw him different. So we’d go to the city and he’d get work – and he’d tell them I was his brother so they’d give me work too. We worked until he was too sick to do it anymore.”

He’d nearly died that winter Bucky remembered with a shudder. His cough had gotten so bad that he’d rattled with every breath he took. And even then the idiot hadn’t wanted to eat when his mother was forced to go without.

“He got better eventually but there was a war on and everybody’s still starving. So your father says ‘let’s go to and find my father.’ The uncles are mad. They say we don’t need help from a gaje but they’re wrong; so we go and I can see it in the eyes of our mother’s, how they’re wondering if they’ll ever see us again.

“We walk all the way to Karkow, cause that’s where the last parcel came from only to learn he’d gone on to Lodz a few months before we got there. Your Da says we can’t go back empty handed so we keep going, and the whole time I’m thinking I’m going to have to bury him and your Baka is never gonna forgive me.

“When we finally track down your grandfather in Lodz we’re half dead, standing on his doorstep holding our hands out like beggars. He said he didn’t have much, but he had more than we did. A father should feed his child but your grandfather wouldn’t even part with a loaf of bread.

“That’s why your Da joined the army so that he’d never have to beg again for what should have just been given, and he fights every day so that you don’t have to either.”

Bucky finished, and on the floor near his feet Maria sniffed back tears. Smiling softly Bucky leaned down and pulled her into his lap, not surprised when Artur scrambled up after her to squeeze into the space next to him.

“Frau Hogan says father stood up to an entire army and got shot. Was he really that brave?” he asked, voice tiny and muffled what with his fingers back in his mouth.

“Father is the bravest man in Austria.” Ian declared. Though his voice was soft in the quiet room there was a firmness to it and the stare he leveled at Péter. “He won’t let us down. If he says he means to talk to Herr Stark then he will.

~*~*~*~

Steve was the one who suggested that they drink together. Bucky had been surly from the moment that Steve had returned to the house to find him, and the long hours of poring over notes, maps, and letters, strategizing, had only left them both in a constant state of edginess.

He’d remembered the nightcap Tony had brought to him a few nights before and suddenly longed for the soothing comfort of liquor and Bucky had agreed, ringing Virginia for a bottle.

That had been a while ago.

The drinking had been a good idea. A pleasant relief from the barrage of his senses. Every day it was like… it was like water. Yes.

It was like running through water, everything heavy and swamp like, distorted.

But sometimes it was razor sharp too. So sharp that he’d be out for his morning run and he swore he could hear the grass shifting, the flapping of birds like thunder in his ears, his mind alert for the tiniest sound or change. Sometimes that was all the warning you had before the enemy was at your back.

But the war was far behind them tonight (or at least, the booze provided that illusion).

Sometime after the children had been settled into bed Stark had wandered into the study with barely a knock and helped himself to what was left of the bottle. Distantly Steve thought he should be more perturbed by this – because an hour earlier he would have walked right in on them knee deep in treason and that wasn’t at all good, also wasn’t this his private study? – but he couldn’t muster the ire.

He did raise an eyebrow as Tony knocked back his drink with all the hasty professionalism of a practiced drinker.

“Did they teach you that at the monastery?” he asked and Stark paused, tapping his fingers against his glass thoughtfully.

“Stefen, you have seven children.” his eye’s twinkled at Steve as he drained the rest of his glass. “Got to keep up with them somehow, right Cap?”

“Fair enough. But I’m also not a monk.” It felt brittle stretching his face, but the urge to smile felt natural and Steve tried his best to accommodate it.

Tony considered him. His stare was so potent it made the hairs on Steve's arm stand on end.

He took the seat across from where Bucky had sprawled out on the couch, feet propped up in Steve’s lap. Steve continued to sip on his drink watching as one of Tony’s dexterous hands unbuttoning his vest.

It was stuffy. Steve thought idly, wondering if he should open the window.

“You're no gentleman either.” Tony finally said and Steve’s stomach clenched.

What did Tony mean by that?

It was impossible not to feel see through, open and hollow all at once, and an impotent anger smoldered in the pit of his stomach as he squeezed his cup.

“Relax, Cap.” Tony murmured with a wink, lips returning to the rim of his cup. “Gentlemen don't keep their wives heavy with babies, and monks certainly never touch the good stuff-”

Steve managed a breath. The pleasant buzz in his mind had become something of a painful drumming (Stark’s fault of course) and he was still deciding on what biting thing to say in return when Pe- Virginia (damn it!) stepped into the study with a fresh bottle in hand.

“And housekeepers never sample the masters liquor. Pepper you naughty girl.” Stark teased, reaching for the bottle, or maybe Virgina herself it was hard to tell. Either way Virginia swatted away his groping hand and set the bottle on the desk before sitting primly down and pouring herself a glass.

“You're a fool.” She said sweetly.

Tony grinned back at her and Steve frowned.

It wasn’t proper for his staff to take such liberties with his booze and his personal space, some distant part of Steve’s mind noted, but he couldn’t be much bothered by that either. It was nice. Kind of like how it used to be before… well before.

Bucky heaved himself up to stumble over and take the bottle from Virgina. He hadn’t said much since they’d started, making his way with a dogged pace toward utter drunkenness. He helped himself now to another overfilling glass and turned to top Steve off.

He was shaking his head and chuckling, the sound lazy and warm as he fell back into his seat. His arm pressed against Steve’s doing something to sooth the buzz of irritation in Steve’s skull.

He let the conversation flow over him, chiming in with platitudes when it felt like he was supposed to answer. He took another warm swallow of wine and then breathed in and out, slow and deep.

> _I'm here. I'm here_. <

“Cap”

Steve blinked. Tony was leaning over him somehow. When had he moved? The bottle in one hand was extended toward Steve's nearly empty glass.

Steve held his glass up and watched the dark liquor fill it.

> _Cap. That's me_ <

He could hold his liquor, he was a captain after all, but something about the sight of his cup being filled with black made him nearly giggle.

He took a sip.

> _I'm here_ <

He chuckled into his glass. Bucky sent him a puzzled look.

“Slow down Stevie or all the boys will take advantage of you.”

He smirked and Steve raised his glass. “Fuck you, Buck”

“Gentlemen please, there is a lady present.” Tony gasped in mock horror.

“Yes and he has very delicate senses,” Virginia sipped her drink demurely as she patted Tony's leg and Bucky snorted into his drink, choking on a wet laugh.

It was only when he realized that the stretching sensation on his face was a dazed smile that Steve really understood.

Oh.

Peggy had died and they’d splintered, their pieces scattering to the wind… but they’d come back to being something like a unit again. A family.

Stark was part of that now. No. Stark was the start: the wave of reverb that had sent them spinning back into place.

He liked Stark. Even if the feeling seemed married to irritation with him.

He wondered if it was the same for Bucky. Did he feel it too or was he just putting up with their strange new addition for Steve's sake?

Certainly Virginia had taken a liking to him and he'd yet to find a better judge of character than her.

A dark cloud drifted over him as Charlotte’s face drifted up in his mind. He wondered how she would fit for a moment, before he was forced to accept the fact that she wouldn’t.

Charlotte was another start. They’d all go spinning in a new direction into… into _something._

He didn’t have to, he reminded himself.

> _Should you_? <

They continued to chat the night away. Tony making leisurely passes at Virginia, cheekily leaning into her side as they spoke, she and Bucky piggy backing stories about the end of the civil war and the things the family had gotten up to.

And even though it was still painful to remember Peggy Steve let them talk. He hardly heard any of it. Not for lack of trying.

It was just patch work. One moment he would be listening and the next moment they had somehow jumped to a different topic all together and he would be left floundering.

As it turned out, even surrounded by friends with the slow drag of alcohol swimming through his veins, he still couldn't shake the odd feeling of edginess creeping through him.

~*~

“Sleep, don't just stay up drinking, Buck!” Stefen said to Bucky when he reached the door to his room. Bucky waved him off, as he continued toward his own room with all the sloppy grace of the truly drunk. He'd refused Steve’s invitation to stay up with him, shaking the bottle in his face.

They had called it a night when Steve had knocked over the bottle. There hadn’t been much left in it but Virginia and Harold, who had joined them some time after Virginia had, had finally suggested the two of them turn in.

He had a hunch they’d really meant it for Bucky, who was rushing toward black out drunk with a dopey grin smeared across his face. Turning in was the last thing Steve wanted to do but Bucky had been vocal enough about Steve's irregular sleeping habits in the past that he was hesitant to prove him right now.

He wouldn’t sneak back to his study either. For one night at least he refused to be a waif slinking around in his own home in the dead of night.

He watched Bucky’s progress down the hall and waited for the door to close and the light to go out, before he opened his door. There was always the possibility that Bucky, knowing Steve, had just turned out the light and continued drinking in the dark, but he was a grown man. He could choose his own mistakes.

Steve undressed methodically and lay down in his bed like a man being put to coffin.

His heart beat out a rapid rhythm against his ribcage.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

> _I’m here. I’m here_ <

He thought the words hard, squeezing his eyes shut.

~*~

_“Did I get him?” Bucky stood over Steve, eyes wide, face contorted._

_Blood was seeping out of the fallen man’s uniform. His body was a brown dot below, like a squished tart where it had fallen from the small cliff face._

_The blood pooling around him was dark, almost black like ink._

_The snow under Steve's hands and in his mouth was cold but he didn’t feel the bite. He opened his mouth to speak and tiny white flowers fell out, floating to the ground._

_He could feel that. Their petals soft and velvety against his tongue, brushing up against the walls of his throat._

_“Did I get him?”_

_Bucky’s breath ghosted out in front of him, his frightened eyes huge in his face, going over the body then back to Steve._

_“I knew what to do.”_

_There was so much blood._

_Steve fingered his food into his mouth. Fish and beans according to the can. It was clumpy and red, reeking of copper and gunpowder._

_Bucky sat across from him, utensils in one hand gazing out into the white swirl of snow at nothing. Steve scooped into the can and reached across the space to push the food between Bucky’s lips, and into his mouth._

_“Eat.”_

_He spooned more of the bloody mess past Bucky’s lips._

_Eat. Please._

_Bucky choked softly, reaching past his teeth to pull a flower from his mouth._

_Edelweiss. Only it was changed somehow, as dark as their flesh._

_He let the blossom fall toward the snow, chest convulsing as he reached into his mouth once more. Bucky pulled out another one and looked up._

_And it was Steve there, sitting in the snow looking back at himself, regurgitating flesh colored flowers into his hands like dribbled soup._

~*~

Steve gasped, jack knifing up in the bed, his sheets pooling around him as he clamped a hand violently over his mouth.

His breathing came harsh and scraped through his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, gasping hard for breath through sore lungs.

When he had enough air and presence of mind for it he stumbled into the washroom to splash water on his face. He stood over the sink, staring into his reflection as the vestiges of the dream faded.

A familiar tightness in his gut made him glance down.

He was hard.

He grimaced, disgust turning in his stomach. It wasn't the first time it had happened after a dream like that. He knew, intellectually, that when the blood was high a man couldn’t always choose how his body reacted, had said as much to embarrassed men under his command in the past, but it never failed to make him feel sick when it came to his own body.

He should be better than this. Combining sex and carnage was a line he felt should not be crossed, and yet look at him.

Bile climbing his throat he crawled back into bed.

But Steve could not lay still. He lay, a towel from the washroom over his face willing the chill to leave his body. Thoughts bounced through his head, never catching.

His first kill.

He'd dreamed it many times through the years but never quite like that. He’d never put Bucky in his place like that.

Did it mean something?

> _No_ <

It couldn’t.

> _It can’t_ <

He rubbed his chest trying to keep his breathing down. He rubbed over his skin, maping over flesh and bone as he grounded himself in the moment. He was here, in the dark of his room. Not back in the snow, staring down at the body.

The soldier had been coming up behind Bucky whose back had been turned. Steve barely remembered pulling the trigger but he remembered the soldier tipping over the edge of the mountain, splitting open on the ground below.

Steve’s hand drifted to the puckered crescent below his navel, a present from enemy shrapnel.

It had been a partially nasty extraction. Not as nasty as an extraction as he'd been trying to make when the ground next to him had exploded.

Prazak’s lower body had nearly been fused to the cannon tank, his legs unrecognizable.

“Hush now, everyone's asleep.”

Virginia's voice floated in from the hallway.

“I'm always quiet. I'm a monk my dear that's how we go about it, quietly,” came a not so quiet response.

Tony sounded much more drunk than when Steve had left them. His voice carried that lazy soft slur it sometimes got late at night when they stumbled across each other, similarly exhausted but neither able to find sleep.

Steve shifted, pulling the damp cloth from his face.

He could hardly make out what more was being said, but a moment later he could hear the distinct murmur of Harold’s voice and then an altogether too loud giggle from Tony.

An almost uncomfortable warmth spread through his chest at the sound.

Tony was right outside his door. Steve could imagine that the slight thunk he heard was of Tony’s hand landing against it to steady himself.

He had such expressive hands, impressive in their dexterity. He was always moving them about when he talked. He'd watched them earlier in the garage when Tony had been bent over the engine of Peggy’s old car, watched as they twisted, pulled and shifted parts so quickly it was like the steps of a well-choreographed dance.

He was stronger to, than Steve had expected, able to row them across the lake all by himself. Near the end he’d strained Steve remembered but he would not hear of stopping.

He'd looked up from his upstroke as Steve had asked him for the rowers and smirked that way he had that was so damn frustrating it couldn’t be put into words.

Steve grunted softly, his breath hitching.

Those brown eyes had caught his, soft and electric, mouth slightly open and panting and Steve had been rattled down to his core.

He rolled his head to the side, his face heating with the memory.

Yes, he was much stronger than Steve had pegged him for but what had he expected, a feeble scholar with more book knowledge than people skills?

He chuckled deep in his throat. Stark was anything but that. He was so many things really… too many to properly put labels on him, but that didn’t stop his mind from trying.

Steve had never met anyone quite as insufferable and comforting all at once.

>Beautiful<

He thought as a memory floated up from their time on the lake. Steve had not been able to put a name to the feeling curling in his belly. Tony had been shooting off at the mouth again. Tony, dark eyelashes clumped together, his chest shifting under the water as he swished past Steve in a back stroke.

He'd thought about grabbing him, wondered what it would feel like to press against him, push him down some. Gently. That way the water would caress his face and Steve could fit himself to him without harming him. The water would hold them together.

Equally strong was the urge to sketch him again. He’d wondered if Tony would agree to sit for him. Let Steve take his time and map out every rich detail of Tony's body.

He’d work the lean lines of Tony onto the paper. The bend of his legs, the smooth dips and plains of his arms, the way his shirt hung open and his eyes caught the shimmer of the water.

Steve’s pulse pounded in his ears.

He wrapped a hand around himself, and jolted in surprise unable to cut off his whimper. He hadn't even been aware he'd slid his hand down his stomach to palm at himself, but now that he'd started he couldn't seem to stop.

Tony was long gone from the hallway but Steve’s mind eagerly supplied dozens of phantom whispers.

Because as much as Tony's continual chatter irritated him, as much as his smart talk and sarcasm could sandpaper at his soul, the evidence would suggest that he loved the sound of Antony Stark's voice.

Steve thrust up into his hand, almost squirming as he stroked from base to tip. He could imagine Tony's hands on him, clever and quick. They'd travel down his body, Tony sneaking one hand in between his legs, stroking his shaft lazily. Tony would be a tease. He just knew it.

He was stroking in earnest now, sweat prickling at his temples, one hand rubbing without conscious direction at his stomach. Up and over scars and patches of skin that alternated between deadened and electric with nerves.

He imagined Tony's mouth all over him, teeth and tongue peppering his ribcage, his shoulders. His hands on his back, caressing, nails digging in. Steve moaned, rolling onto his stomach at the thought of Tony's clever tongue leaving a hot strip over his abdomen, and rutted into the bed, fingers of one hand bunching into the sheets, choking on a whimper.

Tony’s lips stretched tight over his cock. Brown hooded eyes looking up at him. God he wanted…

Steve’s arms jerked, imagining his hands griping Tony’s waist, pressing against his back. Would his fingers leave bruises? He could be gentle. He could.

He knew he wouldn't be.

Not when he could hold Tony down by his hands. Shove him into the mattress, chest to chest. Hot breath puffing against his face as he pounded him into the mattress, drove the breath from Tony’s lungs, stole his ability to speak, molded their bodies together until he wasn't sure where he began and Tony finished.

The sounds he’d make. Because Tony wouldn’t just let Steve have it easy like that. He’d nip and bite and leave blood blossoms all over Steve’s skin, make his mark. And Steve would get a handle on his neck, his shoulder, and give it all back. There’d be bruises for day’s hidden underneath Tony’s shirt collar. Steve would know they were there every time their eyes met.

He buried his face in his pillow with a deep groan, biting into the soft fabric as he bucked into his fist, the bed frame rattling against the wall.

As the fantasy played out it in his mind, as he imagined the way that Tony would pant and moan as Steve took him apart it was all Steve could do to keep rhythm without losing his mind, pleasure building. So close. He was so…

Tony might touch his face, the way he’d so gently touched his arm earlier in the garden… might pull Steve down and kiss him. Press that sweetly smiling mouth to his like he’d been waiting his whole life for it.

And without warning Steve’s mind went blank, orgasm crashing through him as he spilled into his hand. All he could do is let it wash over him.

>So good<

Slowly the pleasure ebbed and Steve came back to himself, his body shaking in fine tremors.

He tried to catch his breath, sluggishly rubbing sweat out of his eyes. As the room began to come back into focus around him his heart began to pick up pace again but this time it was accompanied with the sour tendrils of fear.

Breathe. Just Breathe.

Steve clenched his teeth and pushed the fear unfurling in his veins down, listening to his heavy breaths in the stillness of the room.

>Alright<

In the space of a minutes he’d eliminated all his options. He was a realist, and realistically there was no going back from this.

Steve felt a surge of frustration wash over him; not at Tony, but at himself, and the foolish belief he’d so briefly entertained that he could keep this part of himself contained.

He couldn't keep any of them safe in the state he was in.

Steve lay in the dark, his focus drifting in and out.

He'd almost kissed Tony that night when they’d camped with the children. He could admit that now.

Bucky had seen it before he did.

>You need a wife<

He was a liability and they didn’t need any more of those.

He could feel the numbness creeping back in, making his body ache the ache of the ancient.

Steve pulled himself up like a puppet being lifted on its strings, thoughts now to cleaning up the mess he’d made.

It was a shame, he thought, reaching for the washroom cloth and wiping away at the mess of sweat and cum on his skin.

He'd grown fond of the little family in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Feelings exploding every which way. I hope you didn't think that we forgot about the Baroness ;) Don't be too frustrated with Bucky. He means well, and is sure to come around. 
> 
> Steve. We put him through a lot, and writing the scene where he's forced to deal with his attraction to Tony was weeks of back and forth and planning for us. lol writing the nuances behind sex is difficult (so please let us know what you thought)!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go to Vienna again for round two of boring meetings and social parties, only this time Steve cant stop thinking about his children, and Tony (but that's because children). There's a handsome prince and his dick of a brother, and intrigue galore. Steve just wants to know if Tony's here yet with the kids. Don't tell Bucky he's not a good bro. He'll fight you. And he doesn't even know what problematic means. Oh and Steve attempts to date Charlotte. That too.
> 
> As for Tony: Tony is in love with Captain Rogers. He's somewhat shocked by how not new this is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please see the notes at the end of the fic for a message regarding future updates.**
> 
> Warning for sexism, racism, homophobia... you know what. Just mind the tags, and forgive them all for their problematic selves.

_Tony,_

_Their mother and I had hoped that our children would make something respectable of themselves. Now you tell my that my daughter wishes to become an opera singer. I do blame you for this because we both know you are entirely at fault. You might have a taste for divas with heaving bosoms, but you can kindly leave my daughter out of it. I preferred her previous suggestion that she should marry a prince. You can tell her so. Also, don’t you think this childish game of reporting every last dull detail of the children’s activities has gotten old? Last I checked I only had seven children._

_-Stefen_

 

 

There had been a time in his life when Steve would have traded much to know what went on at a Viennese ball. Now, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t trade to escape having to attend what amounted to a bunch of people standing in small groups and pairs staring at and gossiping about one another. Steve could do without an evening full of stares. The grand ballroom was stuffed full of important persons, from delegates to generals and celebrities. It was decorated to look like a crystal forest so that even the chandeliers hanging over their heads looked like crystallized roots. He wished he'd brought his notebook. Not so strange an urge. Stranger was the wistful thought that followed, that Tony would have loved all this sparkle and finery and that he’d have liked him to be there.

He’d made up his mind several days ago to send for the children (and of course Tony). in truth, the moment he’d stepped inside his suite and got a good look at the empty room and an ear full of silence the first day they’d arrived he’d made his decision.

He’d always missed his family while away. This time was different. He’d opened up his trunks to unpack only to find that someone had stuffed a raggedy old stuffed bear on top of his things. He’d picked it up, recognizing it as Maria’s and suddenly it and the thought of how little time there was left had made their absence unbearable. Bucky seemed to be feeling it as well, if his dark mood as the days ticked past was anything to go by.

He’d held off, mindful of the duties he absolutely could not shirk at the prince’s arrival, but there was no point in distance now. He would send for Tony and the children and make good of what time he had left by spending every moment he could with them.

“Where did you go?” a soft feminine voice sliced through his thoughts.

And with Charlotte of course.

Steve glanced down with a blink. Charlotte was watching him intently, her bright brown eyes roaming over his face. Steve gave her a tiny smile and straightened his back.

“I’ve been here the entire time.” Charlotte had gone to speak to Captain Pavlovic’s wife about...something or another, and had left him to mingle on his own.

At his answer she smiled and too a delicate sip of her drink.

“You know, I haven't’ decided if it should be considered a crime or not.” At his curious expression she waved her glass of champagne to indicate the room. “All these lovely women eyeing you, and here you are looking at the chandelier. Darling it's quite unfair.”

Steve forced his mouth into a smile. He had never been any good at socializing but she was right. He should be trying harder. Offering her his arm he did his best to carry on a conversation that wouldn’t be classified as stilted.

“I was just wishing I had my notebook. Our monk has an interest in architecture,” among other things, Stefen thought with amusement, “and I thought I might sketch it for him.” And then, because she was staring at him with an odd expression, he leaned forward so that his lips just brushed her ear and murmured “And it’ll never be a hardship, excluding all others while waiting for you.”

A hint of a blush dusted her pretty face and she sipped her drink again, lips parted around the thin glass as she kept her gaze on the crowd. “Now, really, you can say all the pretty things you like but next time there's a waltz, Captain, I expect results.”

He chuckled softly and squeezed her arm gently.

“I aim to please.”

She hummed, looking at him from under her lashes in a way she and Steve both knew drove nearly every man from here to berlin mad and murmured with a secretive little smile, “Yes, but whom I wonder?”

The irritation that flared up in his chest caught him by surprise.

No one! He wanted to snap.

There had once been a Stefen Rogers that hadn’t aimed to please anyone at all, but that man was long gone. Traded for this man who had to force his lips into a smile and dance for a crowd he despised, and he did not know what Baroness Shrader thought she knew about him but she didn’t know the half of it.

His laugh was a little more strained this time. Thankfully at that moment the royal party was announced. All five of their foreign guests descended the grand staircase in a glittering procession. Even from where Steve was standing in the crowd Norway’s Crown Prince was unmistakable. Perhaps he’d ask for a pencil and sketch them for Maria, there had to be paper someone could fetch. Tony had written about Maria’s never ending questions about the prince and his wife.

There would be no need to dress the sketch up for his daughter’s active imagination. His royal highness and his wife the duchess were already something out of a picture book as it was.      

Rarely did Steve have to compete for tallest in the room. The prince however stood at least a head taller than most of the guests. Thorson Axel of house Odinburg was a beast of a man, his form suited for battle rather than the refined life of a prince. His midnight blue uniform stood out in sharp relief next to the gray, black and lighter blue of the German officers.

Steve would have thought he was easily the most imposing person in the room (which was quite the feat when said room was stuffed full of seasoned generals, SS officers, and political giants) if he weren't standing next to his wife.

The duchess was, from what Steve could tell, as tall as her husband was. She wore a simple silver gown with one long, thick, blood red ribbon running around her waist and down her back. Her jet black hair coiled neatly behind her head. Really, though, it was her eyes that really caught him. Sharp and bright, they could pin a man from across the room.

He knew a fighter when he saw one.

“Sometimes I wonder why you bother with balls and gay parties at all Stefen. You seem so bored by them.”

Steve shook himself and looked back at Charlotte, who had a teasing pout on her lips.

“Unless of course it’s me you find boring?”

“A man would have to be dead to find you boring Charlotte and you well know it.” She smirked and he began to lead them through the crowd toward the prince and his party. “I think we've waited long enough to introduce ourselves.”

~*~*~

 

The prince and his entourage were already seated by the time a long thin man with a dropping mustache plucked Steve and Charlotte out of the receiving line and showed them to the royal table.

Prince Thorson turned keen light eyes on him as they approached. Steve stiffened at the penetrating stare those eyes gave him, wary now of the prince's request to for a private audience with him. A lot was riding on their negotiations. He only hoped he could convince the Prince it was in Norway’s best interest to help them.

Steve dipped his head in what would pass as a bow.

“Ah, Jeg vil gjerne presentere Kaptein Rogers, for dere, deres hoyhet.” one of the ancient attendants standing behind the prince’s chair shook to life in order to announce them. “Captain Rogers. His royal highness Prince-”

Prince Thorson waved his attendants words aside like they were a bad smell and turned an impressively wide beaming smile on them.

“Thank you, Jakob, but as it is a ball in my honor I am sure he knows to whom he speaks. Why don't you be of use to us and send for some refreshments, ja?”

His attendant blinked at him and then slowly turned on his heel, gliding towards the waiting staff.

Steve’s mouth twitched. If he had done that to Herr Hammer, the man would have had a fit. Well, perhaps not if a royal had made the command. Hammer did so admire the wealthy and powerful.

Once the thought had crossed his mind he couldn't stop the small bubble of laughter. He’d have to tell Tony about it in his next letter. 

 “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain.” Steve startled as the prince held out his hand. He blinked at it for a good moment, not sure in the least that it was real and he wasn’t having another vivid dream.

“Come now, I would you take my hand, Captain.” The prince demanded and Steve did, feeling a bit as if he were in a daze. This was unheard of. For all that Steve was something of a celebrity he was still just a common soldier from Leopoldstad. He might be paraded around royalty like a favorite toy but he was far from it and for the prince to shake his hand… he felt and embarrassing heat creep up his neck and the prince’s smile was knowing as he shook Steve’s hand with vigor.

Withdrawing, Steve collected himself as best he could and introduced Charlotte who was waiting patiently by his side. The prince kissed her hand and gestured to his wife who stepped forward to be greeted in turn.

“This lovely creature at my side is my wife, Siv. She does me great honor by ignoring a multitude of faults and continues to gift me with her adoration.”

Charlotte chuckled, eyes widening in surprise and Steve didn’t know what to do so he just stared as the duchess gave the prince an exasperated look that gave Steve the impression she might have rolled her eyes had she been a tad less regal.

 “With us are my brother Loki, and members of our parliament Volstag, Hogun, and Fandral.” Thorson waved to the four men behind them. The one he’d indicated as his brother was the only one not to smile as he greeted them. He and Thorson were as different as it was possible for two people to be. Prince Loki was nearly as tall as his brother but as slender as Thorson was broad, and so pale as to almost be sallow.  And where Thorson exuded warmth and good cheer, Loki’s expression was so aloof it bordered on disdainful.

“Captain, we’ve heard many tales of your exploits.” Loki said, giving no hint that he was at all impressed by them. His eyes flickering to Thorson gave away the first hint of emotion that Steve had witnessed in the form of fond amusement. “Thor has subjected us to them almost daily since we left home.”

“I’m honored your grace.”

“Thor, and I’ll hear no more of it.” Thor brought up a hand to halt the protest on Steve’s lips. “And you and your lovely companion must sit with us at dinner. I would hear more of your service.”

Charlotte beamed at him. He couldn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t be beside themselves being invited to dine at the prince’s table. Steve wasn’t all that fond of talking about the way, especially at the demand of curious noblemen who knew much of sending troops and little of battle, but he couldn’t risk offending the man.

But to his surprise the meal was pleasant and Thor’s questions, when he asked them, were non-invasive. He had a solid grasp on the military history of not just his own people but his neighbors and the major powers of the world and a keen interest in battle strategy. It made Steve hopeful for their private talk and reaffirmed the notion that he had that Thor was a warrior at heart who would always prefer battlefields to ballrooms. It was easy to like a man like that and in a different life where Steve survived the war, he could have seen them being friends.

~*~

 

Rain drizzled off the roof of the Grand Hotel splattering the rows of black umbrellas with the departing guests shivering under them as they waited for cabs and valets with black beetle cars.

Searching for Charlotte in the crush of bodies Steve’ started in surprise as Duchess Siv appeared beside him looking unbothered at all by the heavy rain. He held his umbrella out for her and she smiled gratefully at him, her red mouth a stark contrast to her pale skin, the sight hitting him rather viciously in the gut.

He told himself to breathe and remember where he was. He was in Vienna, attempting to hail a cab for him and Charlotte and this was not Peggy.

“Thank you, captain. I'm afraid I lost Thor in the crowd.” Siv said gratefully and Steve nodded.

“It seems I'm in luck then.”

He didn't believe for a second that Thor would lose his wife of all people in a crowd or leave her for another man to escort out, war hero or not. This had to be it. He’d waited all night but nothing further of their private audience had been mentioned or said.

Sure enough as soon as the sleek black town car pulled up beside the curb the Duchess turned to him and boldly squeezed his hand.

“It was most certainly a pleasure to meet you captain. Keep in touch. My husband would be most glad.”

When she released his hand Steve felt the edges of paper brushing the inside of his knuckles.

She did not look back as she slid into the back seat of the car alongside Thor’s brother.

Steve carefully tucked the folded piece of paper out of sight.

_~*~_

 

Two days later an unmarked car was waiting for Steve and Bucky at the end of the block at the time designated on the slip of paper Siv had given him. The driver didn’t speak to them as they slid into their seats, Steve taking front, but Steve appreciated the silence. He didn’t think he had it in him for small talk that evening.

Steve attempted to guess where they were going but after a time he gave up when he realized that the driver was taking unnecessary turns, likely to prevent their being followed.

The likelihood that they were walking into a trap was small but there and Steve was glad once more to have Bucky at his side. It was more comforting even then the gun he had tucked against his side. He knew that Bucky was armed as well. Nobody was a better shot than Bucky and when it came to defending them he wouldn’t hesitate.

When they pulled up to the back of the Imperial Hotel Bucky grumbled something about theatrics. A hotel attendant met them at the service door, and if he thought there was anything odd about ushering in a pair of visitors through the staff quarters in the dead of night, his unflappable countenance didn’t show it.

The attendant led them up to the Prince’s private suite, which was as opulent as Steve might have guessed, but he could barely appreciate any of the fine décor with his nerves strung so tightly.

Prince Loki met them at the door, nodding to the attendant who quickly took his leave and shut the door softly behind him.

“Captain Rogers, Mr. Bukhizen. I trust your journey here went smoothly?” Loki asked and Steve nodded in affirmation as he gestured for the pair to follow him toward the sitting room where they found Siv already sitting and Thor standing near the window, staring out over the lights of the city. He turned at the sound of their approach, a welcoming smile stretching his wide mouth but Steve noticed a sobriety to him that had been missing at the ball.

“Ah Captain. At last. We may begin to address this troubling letter I received from Miss Van Dyne.” Waving toward the many open seats in the comfortably appointed room he beseeched them. “Please be seated. You are among friends here.”

Steve did as asked, though in truth he’d have preferred to stand. This was too close to a battle and he liked to feel ready. But he didn’t want to insult the prince’s sincere offer of friendship. Especially when he needed it.

Prince Loki didn’t say anything but Steve felt a prickle go up his spine and looked up to find the dark haired prince staring coldly at him. Thor might think highly of him but Steve got the feeling the brother was going to be a harder sell.

“First, we must ask Captain, are you positive of the validity of the letter?” Siv asked, her dark eyes boring into his to ferret out lies and omissions. Steve didn’t doubt that she was not someone easily fooled or taken advantage of. Thankfully neither was he.

 “Positive. I took it straight from Schmidt’s desk myself.” He answered and Loki, looking up from where he was pouring an amber colored liquor into a collection of small tumblers sat upon the coffee table, made a small considering noise.

“And you’re sure Schmidt couldn’t have planted it there?” he asked as he handed one of the glasses off to Siv and Steve stilled momentarily. To be honest the thought had never even accorded to him.

“What would he gain by that?” Steve rebutted, eyes narrowing on the slender prince. Loki crossed the space between their seats and extended glasses toward him and Bucky, giving him a pointed stare.

“Ferreting out a traitor of course.”

Steve’s body went tight, faced with the clear suspicion in the prince’s dark eyes but he calmly accepted the drink though he made no move to drink it. He noticed Bucky didn’t either which told him that the other man wanted a clear head in case of confrontation.

“I don’t know what you think happened ‘Highness, but Schmidt beat him within an inch of his life the trouble of taking that thing. He’s had plenty of opportunities to take Steve out of the picture but he hasn’t, because he can’t prove shit and they want to keep the people pacified while Germany swallows their country.” Turning an angry gaze on Thor Bucky continued. “And that letter makes it clear that their not stopping with Austria. They’re coming for everyone Thorson, and Norway sooner than most. You’re a fool if you ignore it.”

“You dare much Mr. Bakhuizen.” Prince Loki sneered, something cold entering his eyes. “But I’ll remind you to whom you speak.”

A troubling growl rumbled in Bucky’s throat and Steve gripped his arm, shaking his head in warning. Now was not the time. Thor thankfully seemed to agree, waving away his brother’s warning and turning from the window with a prowl in his step, like a lion on the hunt.

 “It would have been remise not to ask, but I am certain of the validity of the Generals letter from Mr. Frank. It troubles me that Germany intends to march upon Poland and use such cowardly methods of subterfuge to defend their actions.” Thor’s meaty fists tightened at his sides like he wanted to hit something.

“We cannot come to Poland’s defense Brother when there is nothing visible to defend her from,” Loki warned in a tone that told Steve he’d said it many times before.

“Have you no heart Brother?” Thor demanded in a thunderous voice, gesturing violently with one hand toward the window. “You read the very words I did, yet you would have us stand by while they take what does not belong to them and go back on their word? We should mobilize our army. They will think twice before they think to come against the house of Odinburg!”

Prince Loki was neither swayed no impressed by his brothers show of temper, keeping still and aloof. A sharp contrast to Thor’s impatient prowl across the room.

“You’ll have to forgive Thor. He forgets that we are but a small nation and _newly_ independent at that.” Loki drawled with a poignant look at his brother before turning back to Steve and Bucky. “Schmidt would just deny the letter and with no proof besides the captain’s word it would be argued that we were interfering with Poland for our own political gain. Father will never risk making an enemy of Germany based on so little.”

“Loki is right, Thor.” Siv interjected before the golden haired prince could object, and though his expression reminded Steve of James at his most petulant, Thor headed to her. They seemed to share a wordless conversation through looks for a moment before Siv nodded and looked back at Steve.

“How strong is the German force captain? Do you feel you could provide an accurate assessment?”

Steve nodded, reaching into his pocket for the notebook he kept. “I have clearance to a certain level of information. Enough to know that shortly I am to be promoted and assigned to the First Mountain Division.”

Beside him Bucky inhaled sharply. Steve didn’t look at him, though he could feel the anger in his stare. He’d not shared this news before but only because it was as recent as this morning’s round of meetings. He’d had no intention of keeping it secret because there was little point. They’d known it would happen. It was only a matter of when.

“Congratulations Captain.” Prince Loki said with a slight sneer. “Or is it Major Rogers now?”

“It’s still Captain until the official placement is offered and pending my acceptance,” Steve answered in reply, mouth tight. Turning to his notes he glanced up at Loki only briefly to indicate he may wish to pay close attention. “There are other officers in our network who can provide additional intelligence, some with higher clearance levels than I, but at present I estimate roughly six hundred thousand men across thirty-seven infantry divisions.

“Hitler has just implemented a new naval plan as well. He anticipates clashing with British forces in the Baltic sea and wishes to build a fleet massive enough to crush them and cross the Atlantic to reach British shores. If these plans are completed the German navy will consist of twelve battlecruisers, ten new battleships, over two-hundred-fifty submarines, one hundred-fifty-eight destroyers and torpedo boats, and fifty light cruisers. Not to mention additional armored ships and aircrafts.

“Historically Great Brittan has had the naval advantage in sheer numbers. Hitler intends to overthrow that balance and having been on a Stark made vessel, I can assure you that this is something that you do not want. The Navy suffered after the untimely death of their master ship builder during the great war. Had he lived perhaps that war would have ended differently. All the information I’ve received indicates that the company has stabilized and is eager to meet these new demands.”

And Steve didn’t mention it, but he was increasingly aware that even if the current minds behind Stark industries weren’t as brilliant as Hughard Stark had been, he knew someone that was. He’d never been more grateful for whatever on earth it was that had driven Tony to decide to forgo ships and weapons and pursue the faith. The thought of what the Reich could do with a mind like his at their disposal was frightening.

It was silent for a long tense moments before finally Prince Loki said what weighed so heavily on all their minds.

“To go against such numbers would be madness.”

“Our country’s waters stand between Germany and the Atlantic.” Thor stated gravely, seemingly for the benefit of hearing the words said aloud.

“It does. If they are to see their plans for lebensraum through you’re in their way, Thor.” Steve responded with equal gravity and the prince’s shoulders tightened, a dangerous expression, akin to clouds gathering before a storm, crossed his face.

“You say your network plans to sabotage their efforts. What do you need from us?”

“Weapons, transports for men and information when we need them.” Bucky immediately answered. “Our contacts in London are doing what they can but the English government wants to avoid war at all costs.”

“As does our King.” Siv bandied back with a raised eyebrow. “Odinburg may likely decide that it is better for us to cooperate with Germany than to try and resist them.”

“Ja.” Thor sighed. “My father is unlikely to agree to stand against Germany, but I fear that Germany would shake our hands with their right and stab us with the left.”

Thor looked to the duchess and they shared another moment of silent communication before Siv extended her hand to him, and Thor took it gratefully, pulling her out of her seat and to his side. She looked like she fit there, Steve thought with a pang worryingly close to jealousy. Not perhaps, for Siv herself… but for the unmistakable intimacy they shared, the trust and the support they lended to one another. He’d had that once.

“We will lend you what we can Captain, so long as it never becomes public knowledge.” Siv said and Steve’s heart leaped, almost not daring to believe the words. “We wish you success in your endeavors but we must protect the interests of our nation first and foremost.”

“If word of this comes to light you will cause an international incident Brother” Loki warned direly and Bucky snorted muttering beneath his breath.

 “Wouldn’t want one of those. What about sitting right at the mouth of the road Hitler needs to take does he not get?”

Steve rammed an elbow against his side, nodding shortly to Thor and Siv in understanding.

“We respect your need for discretion.”

“Captain, so long as Norway is free and I her Prince, we are behind you and your cause,” Thor promised ardently, extending his hand once more for Steve to shake. The simple and yet profoundly meaningful gesture no less surreal the second time. “I only ask that you remember the friendship between us. We may yet need you, far more than you need us.”

~*~*~

“Mountain troopers huh?” Bucky grunted later as the car took them back toward the hotel. There was a wealth of meaning behind the sound and when their eyes met Steve could see his own ghosts staring back at him. “Any of the old team crazy enough to come back for seconds besides you?”

“Just those who never left the service.”

The face Bucky made said it all. He’d advocated many times over the years for Steve to leave the army.

“If I don’t accept the post they’ll appoint Dittmar as Commanding-Major.” Dittmar was a good soldier but he was a poor leader. He was trigger happy and didn’t look out for the men.

“Jesus, Old Friendly? That Dittmar?” Bucky cursed. The old nickname had nothing to do with their old comrades’ personality (which was cocky and abrasive on the best of days) and everything to do with the likelihood that he’d just as soon shoot through a comrade to get to the enemy. Steve nodded. “I might have accepted just for that, but there’s not much choice anyhow. Rumor has it Schmidt protested but the orders for my placement come directly from Himmler himself. Refusing is not an option.”

“Stefen.” Bucky lowered his voice, eyes flickering to the driver. “I know it’s the last thing you want to hear, but you can still run.”

“You know what’s coming and you want me to run away?” Steve demanded incredulously, anger tightening his vocal cords. He couldn’t believe Bucky could still be suggesting that after everything they now knew.  

“Yes. Just one time in your miserable life, I’d like it if you got down and stayed there because you cannot and will not lead an elite task force for the Germans and survive the war. It’s not in you to kill for them, even in the name of sabotage. This will destroy you.”

“I don’t intend for my post to last very long. I never got into this thinking I was going to survive it Bucky, that was you.” Steve turned away from the wounded look in Bucky’s eyes because he didn’t think he could handle that particular look of betrayal on his face right now. He’d never lied to Bucky about the stakes or his intentions. Bucky was the one who’d fooled himself into believing this could end any other way but one.

“So that’s it huh? That’s why you’ve been so different lately.” Bucky laughed and it was an ugly sound. “You’re still just going to throw away your life and force us to watch? Jesus Christ Stefen you’re a selfish bastard.”

Bucky turned away from him, glowering out the opposite window. Steve let him. He could muster up no fear or offense at the harsh words because the simple fact was Bucky was right, and Steve knew that even so Bucky would be behind him the entire way.

Steve closed his eyes and reminded himself to breathe.

 

_~*~_

_In the afternoon the children and I got back to the task of puppet making. James was rather insistent on this, but you’ll be glad to hear he seems to have taken the punishment you ordered to heart. He was far politer about it than he was last week. Yes, Stefen, I know I am softer with him than I should be, but I find it hard to deny him when he is so genuinely excited. I think having something of his own that he can focus his energies on will do him a world of good. You’ll just have to trust me on this one._

_In any case, the lesson was a success and he was a great help with the designs. I had not expected one so young to have such a great eye for lines and sketch work, and I suspect that this is a case of apple not falling far from the tree. I have included a copy of the sketch he helped Maria to complete (please do not mistake it for the one Artur insisted I save for you, charming as it is). Madame Puppet is sure to be a fine lady. Perhaps overly round in hip and bosom, but I am not one to stifle a young man’s creativity._

_And while you are no doubt filled with nothing but pride for the little beasts you were tricked into calling children, I regret to inform you that the vase in the sitting room took an unfortunate tumble. But if you don’t mind my saying, it was a rather ugly vase so this is not perhaps such a grievance in the grand scheme of things. Ian seemed to think it was worthy of a hanging, but I assured him that only a father most cruel (and limited in eyesight) would be overly bothered by such a loss. He and Artur have become quite fond of playing soldier, marching up and down the halls. They are very excited to see you march with your men in all the grand parades that must be held for the visiting prince. They ask when you shall send for them, and I tell them that a watched pot never boils._

_Lastly, my love for the arts and my unending fondness for opera singers is rooted in the superiority of Italian tradition. It has nothing at all to do with heaving bosoms. And I would point out that a man whose nearly infantile son draws women so top heavy as to defy physics, has no room to accuse others of lecherous tastes. As for the length of my letters, I can only remind you that it was you who requested every second of their day be reported to you and, Captain oh my Captain, I am as ever your servant._

_-Antony Eduard Stark_

_~*~*~*~*_

The call came in the morning. The children’s regular morning exercises had turned into a duel lesson in breath control and chest notes, so that by the time Tony herded them back inside to wash up for morning lessons they were red faced but bright eyed with exertion.

Pepper had met them at the door to the terrace, handing him a small piece of fine paper with a long number scrawled upon it.

“The captain rang while you were out. I told him you’d call as soon as you returned.” She’d said and Ian, eyes going wide with excitement had grabbed Tony’s elbow.

“I bet he’s called to tell you to bring us to Vienna!”

An excited burst of chatter had erupted from the others and Tony had caught Pepper’s eye searchingly, relieved when she gave a barely perceptible nod. She smiled at him and the children seemed to take this as confirmation because the noise level escalated as if someone had declared that summer was going to last six months longer this year.

“Alright, alright, _silenceo_! Remember what I said, I’ll only be escorting well behaved children to Vienna. All I see before me is a rabble of sweaty chickens. Go wash for lessons.”

The children giggled but did what they were told happily enough, even if Péter did depart with a roll of his eyes and a cheeky reply.

“I don’t think chickens sweat Tony.”

Artur was asking James as they hurried down the hall, “How do you think chickens stay cool then under all those feathers? Don’t they get hot like us?”

As the group disappeared around the corner Tony chuckled to himself, heading toward the day room, making a note to include farm animals on Artur’s long list of creatures worth knowing about.

Tony had forgotten that the phone in the dayroom was an older model without a dial, but anxious to reach the Captain before he might leave his rooms he sighed, fetching the ear peace off the cradle and taking the seat beside the table while he waited to be connected to the operator.

He jiggled the cradle impatiently as he waited several long minutes while the operator did not appear. No doubt the women at the dispatch were gabbing away, while Tony suffered in wait. He really ought to update the phone system. The house was moving up in years but there was no reason that it had to stay locked in the twenties did it?

When the operator, a politely bored sounding young woman, finally announced herself Tony gave her the number Stefen had left and drummed his fingers upon the table while he waited to be connected.

He could make the entire house go electric he mused to himself. Stefen would balk at the cost of such a major renovation but once he experienced the efficiency Tony was sure he’d come around to the idea. There were –

“Hello?”

Tony startled as Stefen’s voice, sounding somewhat breathless as if he’d run to catch the phone, barked in his ear.

“Captain?” Tony asked, bringing the mouth piece up closer to his lips.

“Stark. Good.” Stefen began awkwardly, a hesitance between each word as if he was unsure of them. Tony fought a smile. “I rang earlier but Virginia said you were out with the children.”

“Yes. Morning exercise.”

“Good. How’d they do?”

“Just fine. Sara is still getting her legs, but give her a year or two and I think she’ll catch the hang of it.”

“Oh.” Stefen sounded somewhat sheepish. Tony heard his throat clear over the line. “She is young for drills isn’t she?”

“A tad,” Tony allowed. “But since Ian has started running with weights she makes an excellent stand in for a sandbag.”

“I’m not sure it’s wise to let him use them. He’s-”

“Eleven and determined to be every bit as strong as the fellow he watched carrying trees on his back during _his_ morning exercise. If you can imagine,” Tony drawled, grinning at the irritated huff of breath in his ear. “Really you’ve only you to blame for this Captain. If you didn’t insist on setting such unbearably high expectations for manhood the rest of us might feel more confident in our own skins.”

“It wasn’t a tree. And confidence is the last thing you have a problem with Stark.”

Something funny in his chest pulled and Tony’s smile faded. He thought suddenly of the notebook tucked away in his bedroom drawer with all of his grand dreams and unrealized ideas, and then thought of being young again, rushing toward his father in the shipyard with his hands clutched tightly around his model engine. He blinked the memory away.

“I might surprise you.” He answered as nonchalantly as he could manage through the tightness in his throat.

There was an odd moment of silence where Tony worried that Stefen had picked up on his off moment (and God he hoped not, because the last subject he wanted to broach was _Hughard_ ) but then he heard a soft hum of breath in his ear.

“Well you have so far.” Stefen said, voice warm and low in that way that Tony was in danger of sinning over. Though shalt not covet or something along those lines. He was definitely beginning to covet that sound. He really shouldn’t. The reasons were endless, chief of which was that there wasn’t a snowballs chance in hell of his feelings being returned.

“If I have Harold drive you in the morning, do you think that will give you enough time to get the children packed and change your lesson plans?” Stefen was asking and Tony blinked away the haze of his thoughts.

“Yes.” Tony was good with working under pressure. He was also good with getting his way. “Who should I consult with regarding your schedule? I want to be sure to leave time for them to spend with their father.”

He could practically hear the captain’s eyes rolling.

“Restrict their lessons primarily to the mornings and leave the afternoons light. Does that satisfy you Stark?”

“Very much.” Tony answered with a short laugh and Stefen chuckled warmly in his ear.

“Good. Your satisfaction is my chief concern.”

Tony was still grinning as they made their goodbyes and he hung the earpiece back into the cradle. He nearly jumped a foot with an emasculated yelp when he turned to find Natacha, who had slipped in at some unknowable point, standing right beside his chair. 

The girl smirked at him.

“Must you insist on doing that?” Tony snapped.

“I did call your name this time. Artur cannot find one of his shoes and is blaming James, probably correctly, who is insisting that Artur will cut his foot, get an infection and have to have it amputated. They’re going to start fighting.” Nodding towards the phone she added, “When are we leaving?”

“We leave in the morning,” Tony grumbled rising from the chair with an unamused scowl, still coming back from the fright she’d given him. “So we’d better help Artur find his shoe, before James loses his head.”

 

_~*~*~*~*_

 

Any hope that Tony had of sticking to a normal schedule for the children went out the window as soon as the news spread that they were to leave for Vienna the following day. But it was just as well, because Tony might have underestimated the work involved with packing for himself as well as seven excitable small people for an indefinite amount of time.  There were trunks to haul out from storage, clothing to launder and press, and evenWillamina was kept on her feet boxing snacks and other small treats for their travels (because apparently you just couldn’t trust the food that came out of these big cities).

Tony had left the children to begin their own packing while he helped Harold in the garage giving a last tune up to the old car that had once belonged to Frau Rogers, trusting that they were mostly old enough to know what they were about.

But, as it turned out, eight years old was old enough to know that one needed a relatively equal amount of shirts and trousers in ones luggage, but young enough to forget the importance of underthings, and it was best just to assume that the nuances between day clothes and Sunday clothes were completely lost.

Twelve year old females came with a host of mind boggling complications (dresses that were fine for brunches but not for dinners, skirts that were perfectly serviceable yesterday that simply wouldn’t due today, and a plethora of stockings and ribbons and sashes that all had to be coordinated) and while Tony liked to think he was a man of elevated tastes, it had been quite a few years since he’d had any need to keep his finger on the pulse of fashion and Natacha was in no mood to wait for him to catch up.

She threw an outright fit when he reminded her to be sure and pack her play things.

“Tony no!” She’d growled with a stomp of her foot grabbing up the folded bundle that Tony had lain on the bed beside her in white faced horror. “It’s fine when we’re way out here, but we can’t be seen in _Vienna_ in draperies.”

“Natacha, you can hardly tell. Your father hasn’t even noticed.”

“Father likes you in that horrible suit you’re wearing so he’s hardly the perfect judge.” The girl had sneered, and Tony would have been more affronted if one, she hadn’t just used his actual name instead of insisting on Herr Stark, and secondly, he personally agreed with her that the suit was hideous.

It was the same one he’d first arrived in and clothing donated to the abbey was notoriously undesirable, this one more than most. This suit looked like it had been coughed out of the belly of the clothes munching monster that inhabited the place where fashion went to die.

The clothing he’d made from the fabric he’d been given was better, if somewhat plain and unadorned, but with seven charges to look after Tony hadn’t exactly had time to throw together a three piece suit. He wasn’t a seamstress, and shocking as it might seem even he couldn’t be good at everything.

Tony sighed.

“Can we compromise? Pack them so that if we do anything fun you’ll have the option to join in instead of having to sit on the sidelines worried about getting dirty?” Natacha crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest and made to open her mouth but Tony beat her to the punch. “And the first opportunity we get we’ll go shopping for something a little less resembling drapery.”

Natacha had mulled it over for a moment before finally nodding in agreement to the deal, smoothing out the now wrinkled bundle and placing it back on top of the pile in her trunks. One more crisis dealt with Tony’s attention had been pulled away by the sight of Maria passing the door with an armload of books taller than she was.

“Maria, bambina, they’ll have books in Vienna you know.” Tony had admonished, easing her load by taking half the tower in her arms. She beamed up at him gratefully.

“These aren’t all for me Tony, some are for Father.” She was informing him sweetly when a door down the hall burst open and Artur appeared with an armful of brightly colored Knick-knacks, the handle of what appeared to be a tennis racket jutting out from beneath his elbow like an extra limb.

“We heard the maid Bergita saying that it’s good we’re all going to Vienna because Father’s always working, and she’s right Tony. I helped Maria squeeze her teddy in his suitcase and there was nothing fun in there.” Arturbabbled, only pausing briefly to bend over when a brightly painted block fell from his arms and clattered to the floor. “Do you think he likes blocks?”

“I think.” Tony began slowly, past the curious melting sensation in his chest, “That’s a very kind thought. But there’s only so much room in your bag.”

Arturs face fell, crestfallen, and Tony laid a palm on top of his head.

“How about we pick a few small books and toys that you might enjoy sharing with him and keep the rest here for when we get back?”

But Tony thought about it the rest of the afternoon. He was still thinking about it as he gathered up sheet music from the music room. Stefen did work entirely too much. It was better now that he was making such an obvious point to spend more time with the children but the kids couldn’t be his only resource for relaxation.

He’d been looser, that night they’d drank together, but not at ease. There had still been something tense coiled tightly within him, some specter behind his eyes that only he seemed party to. Not the way he’d been when Tony had come to his study to warn him about Werner’s snooping.

He’d been soft then, bright eyed, but warm and rumpled in sleepy sort of way that had Tony’s fingers itching to help undo buttons and lay down on  a bed somewhere. His fingers had been stained with charcoal.

Tony’s eyes were pulled like magnets to the paintings adorning the wall, his gaze landing in particular on the large portrait of a ship at sea riding the wind tossed waves.

He’d thought it looked like a Stark ship the first time he’d seen it. He’d been struck even then by the realness of the waves, the rawness in the artists brush strokes and the attention to details that could only be captured by someone who had walked those decks and seen the sun touch the water in just that way.

_~*~*~*~*_

Steve was concerned that by the time he made it out of the parliament building shortly after two in the afternoon, that he had missed Tony’s arrival with the children.

He’d ignored most of the traffic laws as he’d weaved through the busy streets towards the Grand Hotel (glad not for the first time that his uniform was enough for the police to look the other way) his rented motorbike humming beneath him in company with his thoughts.

He arrived at the hotel just after two thirty, anxiously handing the keys to the valet who rushed out the glass doors to meet him. He’d left instructions with the concierge when he’d requested an upgraded suite, to be on the watch for his families’ arrival and to see them settled but he’d still have liked to be there to greet them.

 Despite every effort on his part to hurry the meeting along his morning in parliament had dragged. There wasn’t much he could do to keep the meeting from dragging once Vice President Volstag broached the subject ofGauleiter Globocnik’s war against the church and the responding criticism coming from the Vatican as well as the English government.

All of this potentially effected trade and while Norway’s independent rule was still young the house of Odinburg was mindful of its economic position.

Thor’s English mother in particular desired to keep their ties with England close.

Globocnik, true to form, had launched into a passionate tirade against political Catholicism and a plea for the necessary subjugation of the church.

Steve didn’t know why Globocnik couldn’t just do as other politicians did and say whatever lies would comfort the prince and his parliament so that they all might salvage what was left of their day, but then again he might be the pot again in this situation because he hadn’t just been able to sit there idly either, while Globocnik tried to defend the imprisonment of men and women who felt compelled by faith to speak out against the Reich or to sympathize with those the Reich called undesirable.

 _“The Gauleiter speaks with a lot of passion your Highness,”_ Steve had finally said, interrupting Globocnik mid stride and all eyes had turned to him with wariness. Schmidt’s stare was particularly cold, his mouth pressed tight in a severe line as his eyes had burned into Steve’s. And though Steve had been addressing Prince Thor the words were really for Schmidt and they both knew it.

_“But rest assured that in Austria, it’s every man’s right to follow the God of his choosing. That hasn’t changed, and as long as there are still free men in Austria, it’s not going to.”_

Schmidt’s lips had curled into a wolfish grin as he’d murmured a quiet agreement.

_“Let us hope not.”_

There was a satisfied smirk on Steve’s face as he pushed through the glass doors and approached the concierge’s desk in the front lobby, flinching under the bright lights of the massive chandeliers that decorated the towering ceiling. Though he’d stayed there a few times now, he swore he’d never get used to the sheer opulence of the place.

“Captain Rogers!” a man behind the desk immediately called for Steve’s attention. Herr Shultz, according to his shiny brass name tag, saluted smartly as Steve drew closer and Steve returned the perfunctory gesture with his jaw clenched tight.

“Your family arrived but a moment ago. They’ve been escorted up to your suite. As requested you’ve been given the Presidential with a connecting room. Also, a message was left for you from Oxford. Will you be needing to make any travel arrangements?” the smartly dressed concierge inquired as he handed Steve a small thick card with writing on it.

Though he’d been expecting the call from Oxford that wasn’t the reason Steve’s heart quickened in his chest. His head was already turning towards the elevators. New since the renovation, electric, some lazy part of his brain remembered. Tony had probably been thrilled by it.  

Herr Shlutz cleared his throat and Steve came back to the conversation.

“Yes. Er… no, no, that is not yet. Thank you Shultz.”

“Very good Sir,” Herr Shultz answered with a nod of respect but Steve had already turned, headed for the elevators.

_~*~*~*~*_

Vienna was a feast for the senses. The children had been talkative through most of the five hour drive, lagging tiredly in the middle and picking up again after Tony had given in to grouchy demands to stop for lunch.

Harold had stopped in the small town of Grien while they picnicked for lunch, and Ian had struck up a conversation with a local boy around his own age who’d been kind enough to let them use the bathroom in his father’s shop.

If not for their expensive clothes and polished manners Tony was sure that he and the children would have been mistaken for a bunch of country yokels what with the unabashed awe holding them all in grip. It couldn’t be helped though, what with the children never having been outside Salzburg and as the countryside slowly disappeared and the sprawling arms of Austria’s urban capital enveloped them, it couldn’t have been clearer that they weren’t in Salzburg anymore.

All around them were the marks of industry, expansion, and that hardest to rid imprint of them all, time. Architectural splendor rose up alongside the rustic structures of previous centuries in the city center, joining the past with the present in a visually effortless marriage (though anyone with a newspaper knew it to be far from the truth). Even Tony had been humming with excitement by the time Harold had pulled up next to the Grand Hotel, the prospect of so much art, so much vitality and _progress_ at their fingertips too tantalizing to stay still.

Once Tony and Harold had managed to get the children and their trunks unloaded and a bell hop had come to assist them with their luggage they’d been met by a Herr Shultz in the lobby, who had seemed amused by the children’s gasps of awe at all the gleaming marble and the grand staircase spilling out into the center of the floor like the very stairway to heaven, rails a brilliant shining gold.

The ride in the hotels brand new electric elevator (the new addition replacing the old steam model that the hotel had been built with) had been a smashing hit (James and Artur had begged the attendant to send them back down again and Tony had struggled to remember that he was the adult here and the poor man had a job to do) only dwarfed by their excitement over their room itself.

It was actually two rooms, a richly furnished private suite connected to a smaller room which provided an additional bedroom and bath. They were led into the presidential suite through a spacious entry hall decorated in bright colors and fine old furnishings. Beyond it was an equally spacious sitting room with three doors – one on the right leading into the conjoining suite, and the two on the left leading to the master bedroom (its crowning feature a truly enormous canopy bed with silk curtains) and a small guest room. The sitting room opened up to an elegant dining room just large enough by Tony’s reckoning to host them all.

The long square table in its center was framed by a breathtaking set of windows and glass doors leading out onto the first of two private balconies (the second could be found outside the master bedroom) which provided a stunning view of the city.  As if that weren’t worth the small fortune Stefen must have paid for their lodgings the suite also came with a small private study and a bathroom with  a tub so large that Tony was nearly certain even a man of Stefen’s size would have no trouble sinking comfortably.

Tony encountered the first snag since leaving the house that morning while trying to direct their attendant with the luggage. There wasn’t a hotel grand enough in all the world to provide enough beds for seven children and three adults so it was quite obvious that they’d have to share. Less obvious was how to pair off.

Obviously Stefen had claimed the master room and if the trunks in the bedroom of the adjoining suite were anything to go by Bakhuizen had claimed that one. Which meant that Tony should take the bed in the guest room and they should divide the children equally amongst the adults (give or take an odd number, because there would be no splitting anyone in half James, thank you very much).

But therein lay the trouble, because at the first real suggestion of sleeping in a strange bed in a completely foreign setting, the courage of his excited little companions began to waver.

“I want to sleep with you Tony!” Artur insisted clutching onto Tony’s leg, and Sara didn’t need words to make her views known, because as soon as the word bed had come up she’d latched onto the other one like a limpet and had yet to let go.

Maria bit her lip anxiously, staying quiet, but it didn’t take Tony’s level of intelligence to read her mind and James promptly followed Artur’s announcement by demanding to share the bed with Uncle Bucky and refusing to share one with Ian whom he insisted hogged covers. Ian immediately insisted that he ‘ _did not_ ’ with the fervor of someone who’d had their honor besmirched and Tony was still refereeing the ensuing squabble when a voice called out from the hall.

“Gotta be vandals I hear. I know that can’t be James runnin his mouth.”

“Uncle Bucky!” James shrieked with delight, the argument completely forgotten as he raced to meet Bakhuizen who appeared in the entrance to the sitting room with a wide smile on his face.

The boy was chattering a mile a minute as Bakhuizen stooped to pick him up, even though he was getting a bit big for it.

“We’re here! Péter was dead wrong. Father did send for us, just like he promised, and the trip took ages! The girls kept having to go to the bathroom even though Tony told them to go before we left and Tony says I have to share a bed with Ian but I don’t want to. Tell him I don’t have to! Ian takes all the covers and he smells bad – ”

 Bakhuizen placed a hand over the boy’s mouth, muffling his words and shook his head with exasperation.

“What have I told you about watching that mouth of yours huh? You know words can really hurt people.”

“It’s alright Uncle Bucky,” Ian assured, though it was ruined somewhat by the peevish glance he tossed his brother as he reclaimed his seat on the couch, already reaching for the book he’d abandoned, intent now on shutting them all out. “I’m fine sleeping wherever you put me.”

Bakhuizen glanced meaningfully at Tony.

“You alright sharing with Ian and Péter?”

Tony nodded, looking down when he felt Artur tense next to him.

“Perhaps you could share with your father?” he suggested, hoping that the child’s desire to be close to his father would win out over the fears that came with sleeping in a new place. It was a good gamble because Tony could see the moment the idea took hold and the resulting war that crossed the little boy’s expression.

“Can you come?” he asked, almost meekly, blinking up at Tony with hopeful blue eyes, and Tony squirmed, sudden heat twisting uncomfortably in his stomach.

Could he sleep in a bed with Captain Rogers even with a small child between them and not give away the fact that where Stefen was concerned he was entirely compromised?

Maybe, but it wasn’t something Tony was keen on finding out.

Bakhuizen barked a laugh that didn’t sound all that amused.

“He’s got a bed already. How about if Maria comes with you?”

Artur seemed accepting of this and even though Maria cast Tony a nervous glance, she stepped closer to Artur in a way that suggested she’d not willingly be separated from him.

Bakhuizen nodded decisively and said with all manner of military briskness, “James and Tacha can bunk with me and Sara’s small enough, she can take her pick.”

 Sara clutched Tony’s leg tighter.

 

~*~*~*~

 

When Steve opened the door to the main suite he was immediately met with the sound of voices, floating in from the sitting room. It sounded as if Bucky had managed to end his business early today and the children were in fine spirits, shuffling and thumping about chattering about all the things they wanted to do. He heard Tony laugh, knew it was Tony even though Bucky’s voice had gone quiet, and his gut clenched with anticipation of seeing them all again. He quickened his step down the hallway, driven by some innate sense that seemed to say that a second longer not seeing them was too much.

When he rounded the corner into the sitting room Natacha saw him first, she stood up from where she was sitting next to Bucky on the couch her eyes going bright and soft as a barely contained grin split her face as she greeted him.

They were all moving and talking after that but what really struck Steve nearly deaf and dumb was Artur, who took one look at him and made an explosive noise of delight, zooming toward him like a bullet to target.

“ _Vati_!”

It took Steve’s sluggish brain a moment after Artur had clamped on to his middle to realize that he was really hearing the word come out of Artur’s mouth.

He was trying as his hands cradled the back of Artur’s head to remember the last time one of his children had called him daddy. He couldn’t remember… couldn’t remember the last time they’d tucked Artur into his bed and called him their ‘little Artry’ either, because there was no _them_ anymore, just him, and it had taken him three years before he could use that pet name again, three long _miserable_ years.

Stefen bent and pressed his lips to the crown of Artur’s head, his soft head of hair tickling Steve’s cheeks, the clean and sweet _childish_ scent of him filling his nose as the strange sensation of laughter bubbled up in his chest.

“Hello Artry.”

They all wanted their moment after that and Steve was happy to give it to them, even if he found their chatter slightly overwhelming as he traded clumsy hugs and pressed even clumsier kisses on cheeks and foreheads but they were all so happy, so obviously blooming with it, that Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. This was right.

Less right was Péter hanging back next to Tony with an imperceptible expression on his face. The boy nervously twisted his left shirt cuff, gaze staring somewhere past Steve until Tony gave him a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

Tony was giving Steve this meaningful look as Péter took a hesitant step forward, cheeks flushing a curious pink, and Steve understood. He remembered being fourteen and awkward with his emotions. And some snickering little voice in his head (that sounded an awful lot like Bucky) reminded him that he’d never really grown past it.

Grinning slightly Steve reached out an arm to pull the boy into a one armed hug.

 “It’s good to see you Sir.” Péter sounded unsure, and Steve could only hope it was because of the way they’d parted. He squeezed Péter’s shoulders.

“It’s good to see you Péter, but I think at home we should drop the sir.” Natacha gave him an incredulous look but Steve went on. “And since we’re all together again… I guess that makes this home.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Getting everyone unpacked and settled in their rooms took what was left of the afternoon. Tony finally had a brief moment to himself to unpack his own things when Péter and Ian, having already finished, were drawn away by the jaunty sound of violin strings striking up in the sitting room.

Tony shook his head fondly at their fleeing footsteps.

“You’d think that man had violins for hands,” he muttered to himself. “It’s a wonder he didn’t take to the stage himself.”

“He wanted to, back in the day,” Stefen’s voice took Tony by surprise, he looked up from where he was placing a pile of folded shirts into the drawer he’d claimed for himself with a curious expression. Stefen leaned on the doorframe, momentarily blocking out the view of the sitting room, not that Tony was overly bothered by that.

His eyes weren’t hurting for nice things to look at. Stefen’s long legs for one, the entirely unfair tininess of his waist juxtaposed against those broad shoulders, the crisp uniform that made those shoulders look even broader. Take your pick.

Stefen shrugged and Tony supposed the shoulders were going to win the honor of being stared at.

“We never had the money to send him for private lessons.”

Tony nodded somewhat dumbly, dragging his thoughts away from the gutter with a sympathetic wince.

“No teacher to recommend him. Got it. Who taught him, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The uncles all played, Ludo in particular took him under his wing. Bucky’s Da always preferred the lute.” Stefen recalled. His voice was low and Tony wondered if Stefen was conscious of the way it slipped into that rough accented lit that Tony had begun to associate with country roads and Bakhuizen, when he said, “My grandfather made him his first violin. Made something for us both actually.”

It was quiet for a moment while Stefen appeared lost in the past and Tony mused on the boys they had been, and the grandfather with the skills to make instruments. There were so many pieces to Stefen, so many unanswered questions still, and it still might be his undoing, but Tony couldn’t help but want answers to them all.

Crossing back to his open trunk he reached for a stack of trousers. He paused, clutching them in his hands as he took a breath. You don’t get anything without effort.

“The uncles… these were men in your village? You both talk as if you were all family but you and Bakhuizen don’t share blood… do you?”

Stefen went very still, and for a long moment Tony was afraid he wouldn’t answer.

“No we don’t, but that never mattered to us or any of the others. We were family. Bucky he’s my brother. Blood doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” he asked with a quiet sigh and Stefen blinked at him in surprise, his mouth twitching upwards. They both understood. From the looks of the world blood was about the only thing that had ever mattered.

“It must have been nice, growing up in such a close community.” Tony pondered somewhat enviously. His own childhood had always been a study in islands, the Stark’s living at the castle on the top of the hill, his Nonna and his mother’s people living down below with the rest of the peasants that Hughard used to build his empire and happily forgot at the end of each day.

“Thank you for escorting the children,” Stefen said rather than answer, and Tony took his cue and let the subject drop. “The trip went well?”

“Yes. They’re very excited. I hope you have your evening cleared because they have a list of demands already.”

Stefen smiled, but Tony thought there was something tired about it.

“Artur has brought some games he thought you might like to play, and Maria some books. It was a long car ride, it might do them good to have a quiet night to settle.” Tony offered and Stefen thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.

“It’s their first night in Vienna. It should be memorable.”

A rush of fondness filled Tony’s chest and quite without thinking he heard himself blurt.

“I brought some of your supplies.” When Stefen’s eyes narrowed on him with confusion Tony licked suddenly dry lips and babbled on in a rush. “Just some sketchbooks and some of the pencils and things, I confess I’m no artist myself so I wasn’t sure what you’d need, but I’ve noticed the paintings, and when I saw you sketching the other day I realized they were yours, and Pepper thought it was a good idea and helped me get what would be useful. Because I just thought you might like – ”

“Tony,” Stefen’s voice was quiet but it was enough to halt Tony’s verbal diarrhea in its tracks. He glanced anxiously in the captain’s direction, relieved when he saw that he didn’t appear to be angry. If anything there was almost something fond about the small smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

That _was_ fondness. Tony wasn’t imagining it. He wasn’t making it up now, and he hadn’t been making it up those times in the garden or that night camping in the woods either. His heart fluttered in his chest, remembering how close they’d stood, how close Tony had come to kissing him. Stefen hadn’t moved away. He’d told himself it couldn’t mean anything but now he wasn’t so sure.

Tony swallowed through a dry throat and smiled with bravado he didn’t feel.

“I told you Captain. I aim to please.”

“Oh you do?” Stefen snorted, crossing his arms as he lazily sauntered into the room. “And here I thought it was your life ambition to drive me out of my mind.”

And the thing about wanting someone, and wanting what made that someone a _someone_ almost as badly, was that your mouth tended to get ahead of you. At least if your name was Tony Stark it did.

“Who says those things are mutually exclusive? You might enjoy the drive.”

Okay, so it was arguable that the little bouts of banter that he and Stefen seemed to fall so naturally into (now that the captain had managed to loosen the iron pole lodged in his ass) could be called flirting, by some very hopeful individual willing to overlook the very obvious fact that a man like Captain Rogers did not flirt. Obviously.

They weren’t. Not if Tony knew what was good for him. But that right _there_ , ‘Maybe you’d enjoy the drive’, that was flirting. Because Tony obviously had no clue what was good for himself anymore.

But Stefen’s expression wasn’t darkening with disgust or clouding with confusion, or anything else that might have made sense, he was just staring at Tony with that infuriating smirk on his face looking too gorgeous for words.

“Maybe I’d get you first.”

Tony opened his mouth, probably to say something crazily suicidal like _yes please_ , when a shriek of delight (in Sara’s dulcet tones) erupted in the living room and the jaunty tune that Bakhuizen was plying out of his strings kicked up a notch into something down right joyous.

Stefen twisted, and they both leaned to peer out into the sitting room where the children were happily dancing around their uncle. Tony recognized parts of it from one of the dances Natacha had taught them.  The boys were clapping and kicking their feet while the girls twirled. Maria didn’t look half bad spinning gleefully alongside her sisters. Sara was a wobbling mess of giggles but was all the more adorable for it, and Natacha was as graceful as a spinning top. There was a wide grin on her face.

Tony’s eyes flicked to Stefen wary of his reaction but Stefen made no move to interfere. He looked thoughtful, almost wistful, and Tony wondered at it.

“We’ve been invited to brunch tomorrow by a good friend of mine, Baroness Shrader.” Stefen announced without breaking his gaze away from what was happening in the sitting room. “Did they bring anything suitable to wear?”

Tony blinked, taken off guard by the sudden change in subject. He’d all but forgotten about the Baroness, but he hadn’t forgotten the gossip that the maids had shared about her. Rumor had it she and Stefen had something of an understanding.

And why not. Steve was a wealthy man of importance and she was a beautiful Baroness, kin of his late wife even. Perfect match.

Tony shifted, suddenly feeling that the room was too drafty.

“They’ve their Sunday clothes. If that doesn’t work, well, I did promise Natacha there would be shopping.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The children, Natacha most of all, had been thrilled at the prospect of dinner and an evening out at the shops, though James was pouty when he learned that Bucky had plans to meet an old friend for dinner. Bucky’d a pointed look and Steve had nodded toward the card Herr Shultz had given him, laying innocuously on a side table near the entrance to the front hall. He trusted Bucky to meet their contact and get a proper tally on the situation. Meanwhile he needed to have a talk with Susann, the sooner the better. It had been some years since he’d visited … Peggy used to love it down there. They should all go, Steve decided. The children would enjoy it.

And they did. From the elevator ride down to the lobby to the carriage ride (Maria begged as soon as she heard the horses tinkling harness) over to the small intimate shops near the Old University. It was easy to fall in love with the old buildings, with their scarred walls (many that had survived the middle ages) and baroque finishings. It was a place with history echoing in every footstep, like an old mother full of stories just waiting for eager ears.

The traffic was slow at this time in the evening but Steve found he didn’t mind. Maria was a warm solid weight in his lap and even if Artur’s pointy elbows and knees gave him the odd jab as the boy twisted and turned to see absolutely everything worth seeing. it was nice. It had been too long since he’d enjoyed a carriage ride like this, someone’s thigh pressed close to his and their shoulders nudging one another’s companionably. Cars were faster and more practical these days but he hoped the city didn’t do away with the system entirely. There was something about it.

He felt a stare and glanced up, unsurprised to find Tony watching him, curiosity written on his face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a look of nostalgia on you Cap.” Tony’s breath was warm tickling Stefen’s ear and his lips twisted into self-depreciating half smile.

“Been awhile, since I wasn’t rushing to get somewhere is all.”

 “Where are we going?” Natacha, who had been leaning over the side of the carriage to watch the swift steps of the horse turned to ask as they neared their destination, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Themen. I don’t know much about clothes but your mother used to shop here. Susann really knows her way around a needle so…” Steve shrugged, hoping Natacha wouldn’t be too disappointed.

“Oh I’m sure it’s going to be _wonderful_.” Natacha said, her eyes narrowing on the mannequins that lined glass windows as their carriage pulled up alongside the little boutique. She spoke with such vehemence that Steve doubted the universe had any choice but to comply.

Themen was just as Steve remembered it, the green paint on the door was still peeling and the silver bell still tinkled just the same way as they entered – so much so that a chill passed down Steve’s spine and for a moment the woman standing in front of the counter talking to Susann could only have been his Margrit, in one of those fashionable suites she liked (that her mother called mannish) and any minute now she was going to turn around in her bright red hat, and her precisely painted lips were going to spread into an exasperated smile because –

_“I suppose you were just in the neighborhood Captain?”_

“Captain Rogers?”

Steve jerked, slamming back to the present so fast it left him with an uncomfortable feeling of whiplash, his whole body tight with nerves. Tony gently touched his elbow and Steve looked down to stare at the fingers of his hand, dragging in a deep breath as he found his ground.

It was a hazy moment before Steve realized that it was Susann who was speaking but he was collected enough to offer a genuine smile for his old friend by the time the woman had come from behind the counter.

“Stefen I hardly believed my eyes!” Steve’s eyes went a little wide with shock as the woman threw her arms around him, squeezing tightly. She seemed not to care that he was in uniform or that she’d all but abandoned her customer, a stout woman with graying hair clutching a covered basket (she looked nothing like Peggy).

But then again Susann Richter had always been a bit too frank to care about social conventions when it came to friends. He’d always liked that about her.

“Susann, you look wonderful …” And she did, every inch of her Swedish heritage from her height to her fine blond hair presented at its best in the simple but elegant style Themen was so known for, but Steve stiffened, feeling the unmistakable poke of her stomach against his, and hastily stepped back as if he feared he’d burn her. “God you’re… congratulations!”

Susann’s eyes danced with quiet amusement at his reaction and next to him Tony coughed suspiciously into his hand. 

“Yes. I’m hoping for a girl this time. Between Frank and Ret I think I could use another woman around.” Turning, Susann’s eyes landed on the children, eyes sticking first on Péter and then Natacha. He thought he saw what might have been tears in the corner of her eye but with a toss of her head and a wide smile if ever they had been there, they were gone.

“Oh and you brought the children! You really should have told me you were coming I would have closed up.” Addressing Natacha and Péter directly she smiled warmly at them and said, “I haven’t seen either of you since you were just babies. You probably don’t remember me. I’m Susann Richter.”

She extended her hand first to Péter, who blushed as he reached for her hand. Tony shifted and Steve glanced at him just in time to catch the roll of his eyes and grinned. Natacha shook Susann’s hand with practiced firmness returning the woman’s broad smile.

 “You knew our mother?”

Susann nodded, surprised but pleased.

“Yes, she was one of my best clients and an even better friend.” She winked at Natacha before turning her attention to the other children who were eager to be introduced and bask in her attention.

“Oh, this is Ian, James, Artur,” Steve began to rattle off, gesturing to each child as he went. “The shy one is Maria and – “Sara marched forward and back in parade just like they did at home and Tony laughed. Steve’s cheeks felt hot.

“And this is Sara.” Nodding his head toward Tony he finished with, “Herr Stark. Their tutor.”

“Governess really.” Tony drawled shaking the woman’s hand. Susann barked a startled laugh even as the grey haired woman still standing at the counter, watching them unabashedly made a shocked noise. Steve glanced at her and she paled when their eyes met, flinching and looking away. He frowned, realizing that she looked frightened.

“Is that so? How scandalous.” Susann was saying.

“Oh To- I mean, Herr Stark, says he doesn’t mind watching children Frau Richter. He says that monks are especially good at capturing minds when they’re young.” Péter offered, cheeks turning pink again when Susann laughed, gaily.

That revelation was enough for Steve to pull his eyes away from the curious old woman and shoot Tony a look and the monk just smiled winsomely back. Susann’s eyes looked Tony up and down with amusement. There was a clever gleam in her blue eyes as she murmured, “A monk. I suppose it _would_ take the grace of God to help you raise seven children on your own. Ret would burn the house down in a day.”

“I do have a staff Susann. They run the house just fine.” Steve grumbled. Susan hummed, but it sounded doubtful. She was still smiling pleasantly however when she asked.

“And what brings you back to my doorstep after so long?”

“They need clothes. That is -” Steve cleared his throat and tried again. “They have clothing of course. They need new ones.”

“We’re going to brunch with the Baroness.” Natacha supplied helpfully and Stefen nodded quickly, finding himself babbling.

“Yes, exactly, and perhaps to the park and the opera later in the week if…”

Steve trailed off as Maria drew in an excited breath, eyes going round as dinner plates. He could see her trembling against Tony’s side, pent to burst with excitement and Tony gave him a ‘now you’ve done it’ look.

Stefen grit his teeth. Taking all of them to the opera was going to cost a small fortune. He’d already spent too much on housing them all and Natacha had this hungry look in her eye that didn’t bode well as she eyed the clothing racks.

“Say no more Captain,” Susann said, taking pity on him. She seemed to remember her customer then because she hastily steered them over to a section filled with children’s sized clothing and saying, “Just let me finish up with Frau Neumann and I’ll be right over to help with measurements.”

The children attacked the racks with relish, and Steve tried to keep an eye on their progress while sneaking furtive glances at the counter where Susann was whispering with Frau Neumann, thankful that Tony was there to make sure they didn’t destroy any of Susann’s merchandise.

He couldn’t help but be suspicious. The woman was clearly nervous and wanting to leave the shop as quickly as possible. She was also wearing a shawl much too thick for late summer.

Steve realized with a sinking heart that she was selling her clothing as he watched her slide the basket over the counter and Susann examined its contents. A thick fur coat, and a stately men’s suit, joined a neatly folded pile of shimmery blouses on the countertop.

That was why she’d acted so strange. She was embarrassed. The ball of tightness in Steve’s chest began to ease and he turned his eyes away, giving the woman her privacy.

“Father can I get these?” little hands tugged on his jacket and Steve looked down, blanching at the sight of the navy blue short shorts that Artur was extending his way. He had the matching sailor top that went with it in his right hand, and there was even a floppy little cap pinned to the hangar. Steve hummed, buying time while trying to think up a nice way of saying he’d rather his son didn’t look like they had more money than good sense and too much of it to waste.

“Uh well…”

“That’s a nice outfit for brunch Artur, on a boat with Captain Ahab, but it’s not really suitable for having brunch with baronesses.” Tony came to the rescue. He had a similar pair of blue shorts draped over one arm (though they were thankfully longer) and a matching suit jacket hanging off a thin wire hanger. “But I like the color scheme. Let’s try this one.”

 “Who’s Captain Ahab?” Artur pouted his lip, but accepted the exchange.

“Who cares? We aren’t having brunch with him.” James, who was hugging a stripped vest to his chest, responded with a shrug. “Can we have brunch with Baroness Schrader on a boat?”

Tony opened his mouth.

“No.” Steve quickly interjected with a stern look.

Tony shrugged innocently, muttering, “the child like’s boats.”

Steve was about to reply but at that moment Frau Neumann pushed past them, nearly tripping over Ian who had crouched to examine a stack of folded fabric. The boy immediately stood up, reaching to steady her, an apology leaping off his lips.

The woman hastily backed away from him, like he might have been carrying some disease, muttering her own quick apology as she righted the shawl that had slipped down her shoulders and hurried from the shop.

Steve stared after her. It had only been a brief flash of color, there for a moment and then quickly covered, but Steve knew that he had not imagined seeing the yellow Star of David stitched onto her sleeve.

His eyes immediately flew to Susann, who was watching him closely, and then to Tony who was paying attention to neither of them. If he’d seen he didn’t show any sign of it.

He wanted to trust Tony, but he couldn’t be sure of where he stood on the Jewish problem. Sympathizing with an eccentric old soldier like Steve was one thing, Jews were entirely another.

Susann was crazy to have taken such a risk where anyone could have seen. If people found out she was still doing business with Jews she would lose her other customers, and much more besides.

Steve stared hard at her but she didn’t appear at all ruffled by it, meeting his gaze evenly as she clicked toward them on her low heels.

“Now let’s see what we have here children. Once you’ve made your final selections I’ll take your measurements and tailor them to you.” To Steve she said, “If you give me the address to where you’re staying I can have my girl deliver them to you in the morning.”

With Tony so close he dared not say anything so he just grit his teeth and nodded, body humming with tension. He watched as Susann took charge, taking suggestions and then making her own, giving each child attention and focus, and took Tony’s shameless flirting in stride.

They were all smitten with her, but Natacha in particular seemed in awe, the two of them giggling and whispering together as Susann took her measurements in such a feminine way that it made Steve itch uncomfortably. He was used to Natacha being so reserved and, well, sensible. He didn’t think he liked the secretive giggling and sly looks they kept giving him. He kept having to stifle the urge to make sure his shirt wasn’t untucked.

He wanted nothing more than to grab Susann and confront her about Frau Neumann but Natacha looked like she was having fun.

He held his peace.

“You were really a war nurse, like my mother?” he heard Natacha ask and his stomach clenched.

 “Yes.” Susann answered after a brief pause. “I learned a lot from my father, he’s a surgeon, I even had some schooling. With the war on… well I wanted to help.”

A pang of sympathy helped cool some of Steve’s lingering anger. He’d never doubted that Susann enjoyed her life or the business she’d built to support her family, but he also knew how smart she was. She was every bit as smart as her father and maybe, in a different world, she might have been a brilliant doctor herself one day.

And yet she was reduced to the role of invisible partner speaking through her husband, her many contributions to his work left unacknowledged.

Not that Ret wasn’t a brilliant man in his own right. Susann was lucky to have found someone like Ret who cared far more about the research itself than the gender of the person providing the data, but the world did not share the same obsession with data as Richter. Few did really. It was kind of creepy if Steve were honest.

With Natacha finished Susann hurried back to fetch a leather bound journal from behind the counter, quickly scribbling each child’s name and writing numbers next to it. Steve followed, as nonchalantly as he could.

“How is Risteard?” He asked out of politeness, struggling for a moment to remember her reclusive husband’s proper name. Steve had only met the man in person the once. Risteard “Ret” Richter was not what anyone would call a social animal. He was one of those scholars that people called an intellectual when they were being polite, and a massive bore as soon as his back was turned. When he couldn’t be found in a lecture hall at the university he was likely to be found buried in research. Tony would probably like him.

It had never made any sense to Steve why a woman like Susann would saddle herself with a man even less romantic than him, but love was funny like that he guessed.

Something twitched on Susann’s face and Stefen’s eyes caught the barely perceptible tightening of her lips. Her smile was strained when she answered.

“Very busy. They asked him to go to Germany to work with a coalition of scientists in Dachau.”

Steve stared at her, shock bleeding all expression off his face. Unless there was more going on in Dachau then his Intel had provided she could only be talking about one thing.

Project X-Gemina, or simply Project X as his contact had called it.

He wasn’t supposed to know about it because no one was. Steve had only spoken of it in hushed whispers and over secretive phone calls. The last place he’d ever expected to hear it talked about, and so openly at that, was in a dress shop in the middle of Vienna.

Susann must have noticed the look on his face because she grimaced.

“It’s not the cosmos, but they were impressed by the paper we wrote on ultraviolet waves and their geographical effect on reproduction – ” She paused, her mouth tightening once more and she sighed. “He can’t tell me much about it of course but he expects he’ll be of some help to the project.”

Steve’s mind was racing, suddenly regretting bringing the children with him. He needed to talk to her alone.

“Susann, be thankful you’re not involved.” He kept his voice low, as not to startle the others, but she heard the danger in it.

“What do you mean? Is Ret in trouble?” She began but she fell silent when Steve shook his head in warning. Mouth settling in a firm line she bent to scribble the last of her notes with a decisive scribble.

“I’ll have these orders ready for you by tomorrow Captain. Enjoy your evening with your family, but on second thought, the girl who does the running has not been well. Can you come by early to pick up your things?”

Her intentions clear, relief and reluctant admiration trickled through him as he took the slip Susann handed him with a grim nod. He’d known there was a reason he’d always liked her.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“They’re never going to get to sleep now.” Stefen remarked as he watched the three younger boys throw pebbles into the fountain, the ice from their cones slowly beginning to melt and dribble between their fingers.

“Their first night in the city loaded up on sugar? They’ll crash by midnight.” Tony snickered. “And I hope you enjoy skinny elbows and pokey knees in your back because Artur is adamant on sharing with you.”

Stefen smiled wistfully, watching as Artur sucked the sticky residue of melted cream off his fingers, and plopped back down into his seat at Tony’s side on the bench.

“It’s probably just deserts,” the captain said after a moment and when Tony arched a brow in question his lips twisted in a sheepish half smile. “Bucky was always complaining I was made of sticks.”

Tony chuckled, leaning back against the bench.

Picturesque. He thought. The night was the very definition of it.

The lantern lit streets casting light against the cobblestones, the stars above, the bubbling fountain at their backs, the happy chatter of the children only interrupted by the eager sound of wet slurping, the sweet cold slide of ice-cream on his tongue, the spice of cologne in his nose as Stefen leaned across him to wipe Artur’s sticky face.

A well-dressed woman on the arm of a gentlemen paused just slightly in her step, her eyes taking in the large family sitting by the fountain enjoying their after super treat. Her eyes, watching Stefen, went soft with fondness before meeting Tony’s briefly in curiosity before her attention was pulled away by the gentlemen at her side.

They were gone in a whiff of sweet perfume and musky cologne, just a single part of one of the many people walking off their dinners on their way to the evening’s entertainment.

Tony could remember few times before this moment when he’d ever been so halcyon. But no sooner had the realization settled upon him, it was followed by guilt twisting through his belly, Frau Neumann’s frightened face filling his mind.

He’d seen the star on her sleeve when her shawl had slipped but dared not draw attention to it, neither wanting to put her or the kindly Frau Richter at risk. But Stefen had seen. Tony had seen it on his face as he’d watched the woman flee the shop. He’d held his breath terrified at what Stefen might do.

Nothing, as it turned out. Though Tony was sure that Stefen meant to have words with his old friend if the sudden decision to pick the clothes up himself in the morning was anything to go by.

But Tony couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder at it, bitter sweet as it was. Over and over again the thought circulated in his mind that Stefen had seen and had done nothing.

Tony couldn’t help but look at him once more, sure that his eyes betrayed the same softness as that woman’s had as they drank Stefen in. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it was an impossible foolish dream, and yet he could not shake the hope.

Because something had changed with Stefen. Tony couldn’t say why it was, but the Stefen who had come through the door that afternoon was different from the man who had left them, who was even more different still from the cold man Tony had met that first day in the music room.

He was relaxed even as he was more attentive in his interactions with them.

Purposeful, Tony decided. That was a good word for it. Stefen had found new purpose.

Tony was as anxious as he was curious to know what purpose Stefen could have discovered in the last few weeks to bring about these changes, because it struck him as eerily familiar.

He knew what a man looked like when he’d made his peace with death and the boldness it gave you when you realized it was all over but the shouting. This was a savored sunrise.

He’d walked that line himself not long ago. He was still walking it in truth, but he could not say he found acceptance as easy as he once had. How could he, when the want of something was opening up inside him begging for fulfillment?

He couldn’t have this, not forever. But he had the night and he was just selfish enough to take whatever it would give him.

“What’s so funny?” Stefen asked at the chuckle that erupted from Tony’s chest and Tony shook his head slowly, still grinning at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Romeo and Juliet. Ever read it?”

The captain blinked in surprise and shook his head, looking somewhat embarrassed as he said, “My schooling came pretty late in life, and even then… not a lot of time for Shakespeare. What’s so funny about them?”

“A pair of zealous idiots who threw away their lives for love?” Tony sneered and Stefen laughed. “Just about everything.”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s romantic.” Ian asked, taking a lick of his cone and beside him Natacha rolled her eyes.

“I think it was silly.”

“You think everything’s silly Tacha.” Péter drawled with a roll of his own eyes and Tony caught the way she poked her tongue out at him.

He was grinning as Stefen asked, “They’re reading Shakespeare?”

“It’s our literature this week!” Maria confirmed with an eager smile. “Tony says, after we finish we can start Les Misérables.” There was a wistful gleam in her eye and Stefen smiled, though there was something shadowed that passed over his expression when he looked at Tony.

Anxiety tightened Tony’s chest. And why not? It was heavy material, featuring a cast of undesirables. Definitely not Reich approved.

“That’s heavy reading don’t you think?” Stefen drawled and Tony tensed.

“So long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless.” He snapped defensively, though he didn’t know why he expected Stefen to understand the reference or to care, when Tony was teaching his children banned material. So he went with the strategy of saying as much of whatever else came to mind as possible, in the hopes that maybe Stefen would get distracted and forget to be angry.

“I know it can get a bit dark, but so can the world, and better that they work through these things in a safe environment. The glass box always shatters Captain, and in my defense Sara naps during literature anyway and the rest of your children are uncommonly bright. They’ve already read everything available to them in the house twice over. Maria was picking her way through your copy before I ever got involved.” he rambled. “It’s in French did you know? She doesn’t even speak it. Well she does now, we’ve been learning, but my point –”

Stefen placed a hand firmly over Tony’s mouth and Tony jerked to a halt, surprised at the touch. He heard James snicker but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Stefen whose palm was a warm, barely there pressure against his mouth, but Tony was so aware of it he swore he could feel every hair on his body rise.

“Stark,” Stefen’s voice was rough but his eyes were warm with amusement. “It’s fine.”

Tony swallowed and when Stefen’s eyes followed the movement his cock twitched with interest. For a split moment he entertained the thought of slipping Stefen’s fingers into his mouth, but however stirring a fantasy it was, he was keenly aware of both the fact that they were in public and that the captains seven-year-old boy was giggling gleefully at their silliness not even an inch away.

Tony made a disgusted expression and pulled Stefen’s hand away from his face.

“Disgusting. I’ve watched you wipe germy noses and sticky faces with that hand Cap.”

Artur snorted loudly and then coughed as he choked on a mouthful of ice-cream. The others couldn’t help but laugh at the sound, but Tony became concerned when Artur continued to cough, his face screwing up with discomfort. Tony reached for him to begin patting his back, anxious that perhaps a piece of his cone had become lodged in his throat.

But after a moment more the coughing subsided and Artur curled against his side, content to continue licking away at his ice-cream between quiet wheezy breaths. 

Tony looked to Stefen for answers, not liking that sound at all, and Stefen leaned over him once more to stroke Artur’s brow, concern etched deeply onto his face.

“His asthma.” He murmured lowly and Tony’s frantic mind did manage to remember it had been on the list of the children’s illnesses. Honestly that list had been so long that it had all begun to blur before Tony had even finished reading what was wrong with Péter. He felt a flash of guilt, because somewhere along the line after he’d become suspicious of Péter’s heart condition he’d begun operating under the assumption that he need not mind that list at all.

“It’s not your fault Tony,” Stefen read his mind and Tony looked up at him, startled to realize how tightly he was holding Artur. “His bouts are usually pretty minor. He’s had a big day.”

“We have haven’t we?” Tony murmured, relief washing through him as he stroked Artur’s soft hair.

“Mother used to give us warm baths when we were little.” Ian informed them, biting his lip worriedly. “It helps when your chest rattles.”

“She’d sing to us too.” James murmured and Tony nodded, looking down at Artur.

“What do you say bambino, home and a nice warm bath?”

Artur coughed once more before he dejectedly stuffed the rest of his partially bitten cone into his mouth. His face screwed up in misery he stuck his arms out in a request to be carried and Tony chuckled, despite himself.

“Is Artur going to be okay father?” he heard Maria ask meekly as he rose with Artur in his arms, and Tony was grateful when the captain stooped to pick the little girl up and press a kiss to her hair.

“He’s going to be fine.” He murmured lowly as they began the walk toward the road.

“Do you think it would help to sing about our favorite things?” She asked and Stefen looked to Tony with confusion.

“I presume this is something you taught them?”

“It’s a song for when you’re feeling bad.” Tony explained. “When I had trouble sleeping my mother would sing to me about her favorite things.”

“Like what?” Stefen asked curiously and from where she was trailing along beside Natacha Sara began to sing, effectively ending the debate.

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.”

Tony laughed. Winking at Stefen he opened his mouth and quietly added his voice to hers as he gently rubbed Artur’s back.

_Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Brown paper packages tied up with strings. These are a few of my favorite things._

 

~*~~*~

 

Steve sloshed warm water over Artur's neck and shoulders, careful to keep the water off of his head. The air in the bathroom was thick and steamy, perfumed with the scent of lavender from a box of salts that Tony had found in the linen cupboard.

Steve frowned, as Artur coughed, blinking sleepily up at him from where he rested against the rim of the tub. Despite the soothing heat of the water the rattling cough had not completely subsided, though the wheezing was thankfully less audible.  

“It's too hot, vati.” Artur leaned into the arm Steve had rested on the brim of the tub, looking up with tired miserable eyes.

It shouldn’t be too hot. Steve had tested the water twice. Just to be sure he dipped his fingers again.

“We’re almost done, Artry,” he murmured gently. He wanted to give it a few more minutes in the steam to be completely rid of that rattle. Artur didn’t complain. He just continued to cling to Steve as he had done since Steve had carried him in from the car. While Tony had gone to gotten Sara undressed Péter had drawn the bath. Steve had just stood there holding his son, remembering the misery of his own youthful illnesses all too keenly as he rubbed his child’s back. Artur had clutched at his shirt, his entirely too long legs dangling listlessly in midair.

He’d traid every bit of strength he’d gained over the years to switch places with Artur now, just so his child wouldn’t be in pain.

Even after he drained the tub his normally playful little boy did nothing but shake and cling to him while Steve dried him off.

“How's he doing?” Tony asked, leaning on the door frame. His dark eyes settled on Steve, all the intense and worried. 

“Better, he's not wheezing as much but I want him in bed as soon as possible. He needs his rest.”

The moment he said it Artur began to wiggle, his voice wobbling pathetically as he clutched at Steve’s side.

“Can Tony sleep with us, vati?”

Steve’s eyes flew to Tony, who stared back cleared as taken off guard as he was.

“Artur Tony has his own bed.” He reminded as gently as he was able but Artur began to tear up, his little face screwing up miserably as he pressed his running nose and teary eyes to Steve’s thigh.

“No, vati.”

Steve looked to Tony helplessly.

“Maybe I’d better take him for the night?” the monk fretted, but Artur didn’t seem to like this suggestion any better, sobbing now as he locked both arms around Steve as he shook and shuddered.

“No. No vati, I want you.” As Artur’s voice trailed out into full on wailing. Steve scooped him up and held him close to his chest, heart clenching painful in his chest.

“Tony would you please?” He pleaded, looking apologetically at the monk who looked supremely uncomfortable all of a sudden. “I know it’s an inconvenience but it’s just for the night. He’ll be more reasonable when he feels better.”

“Tony?” Artur mewled, lifting one hand to reach for Stark as he stepped closer, and at the gesture the tension melted off the man’s face as he gripped Artur’s letting hand and rubbed it tenderly.

“Sure, Cap. It’s not a bother.”

Steve smiled at him, awash with relief and mouthed a thank you as he carried Artur into the bedroom.

 

~*~~*~

 

Steve lay awake listening as his son’s breaths slowly evened out, the wheezing fading as he slid into sleep, the hand he had rested on the child’s back rising and falling with each breath. He counted each one, the fear that they might suddenly stop at any moment repeatedly snatching him back from the edges of sleep.

“He’s alright Stefen,” Tony murmured from the other side of the bed. He was curled up behind Maria who in turn was clutching Artur close in her sleep, her dark hair tangled over her face.  

“I should have seen that he was struggling.” He confessed, his eyes searching Tony’s for the condemnation he knew he deserved but he was met with rich warm brown orbs, so heartbreakingly gentle that Steve wanted to hide from them. But he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“None of us did.” Tony reminded him “But it’s alright now. He’s safe and his breathing is getting better by the minute. You can close your eyes you know.”

The thought of closing his eyes to sleep with Artur ill terrified him, unable to shake the fear that he’d slip away while Steve slept the way so many of his comrads had done in the mountains, that he’d wake to shake Arturawake only to realize his body had gone cold in the night that the sleep that gripped him was final. He tensed up, clenching his teeth tightly together prepared to shake his head adamantly before Tony’s hand slipped over his.

“Just for a little while,” he murmured. “I’ll take first watch.”

And the realization that he wasn’t alone in this, that Tony wasn’t going to try and make him ignore the fear, but that Tony would _help_ hit him like a speeding car, a shuddering breath eeking out of his chest as slowly every tight muscle in his body eased, leaving him feeling weak and drained.

“You won’t – you won’t let –“ he tried to get out over a thick tongue and Tony just watched him with sympathy, pity thankfully nowhere in sight.

“I won’t let anything happen to him Stefen, trust me.”

Steve wanted to tell Tony that trust was much easier to demand than to give, and to confess that he hadn’t trusted someone enough to risk sharing a bed with them since Peggy. But somewhere in the middle of his exhausting swirl of thoughts he’d closed his eyes. He opened them only briefly when a sound from the door pinged at his senses, but Tony’s low voice in his ear eased him back into sleep.

He was only vaguely aware of a small body wriggling across his to join them in the bed.

 

~*~*~~*

 

The morning dawned bright and sunny. Stefen had been up and out of bed before the light had even begun to penetrate the curtains, his furtive movements waking Tony momentarily before he fell back into sleep again.

He was woken when the sun was doing its level best to penetrate the silk canopy surrounding the bed and a pair of little fingers decided to test his wakefulness by poking him repeatedly on the cheek.

“Tony?” a little voice that Tony would have called sweet at any other hour whined. “I have to use the bathroom.”

Tony groaned, squeezed his eyes shut and attempted to burrow deeper under the covers. He’d stayed up most the night before Stefen had woken in the wee hours to relieve him from his watch. He hadn’t thought that Steve would truly be angry if he fell asleep before then but couldn’t bring himself to do it when he remembered the haunted look in Stefen’s eyes. He’d given his word and that was that.

Still he was exhausted and nothing short of the second coming was going to pull him out of bed before noon.

A moment later however his nose twitched, the familiar scent of coffee wafting through the room and he kicked the covers off, blinking blearily through sleep gummed eyes, following his nose to where Bakhuizen was standing beside the bed sipping smugly from a tall mug.

He’d thrust open the canopy so that the light streaming in from the windows pierced Tony’s eyeballs.  Tony closed his eyes, a pathetic sound whimpering past his lips and he could practically feel Bakhuizen’s smirk.

“Sara has to go to the bathroom.”

Tony blinked blearily down at the little girl who squirmed in the bed next to him wondering how on earth she’d gotten there before he remembered that she’d joined them in the middle of the night, chased by a bad dream.

“Sara has a perfectly good uncle.” he grumbled, wiping at his eyes.

“No.” Sara immediately latched onto Tony’s arm, shaking her blond head profusely. “You.”

“Sounds like she wants you.” Bakhuizen took a slow sip of his coffee and Tony watched his throat move covetously as he imagined the smooth dark liquid disappearing down the man’s ungrateful gullet.

“Better be quick about it Stark. We need to get the kids fed and dressed if they’re going to have enough time for lessons before brunch. Stevie wants them to make a good impression.”

Right. Brunch with the baroness. The woman Stefen had an _understanding_ with. Tony lumbered out of bed, nudging Artur awake (who was sprawled out like a starfish in the middle of the bed, one arm thrown over Maria) as he went.  If he did so with a scowl, it was only because he’d never been much of a morning person to begin with and he was dog tired on top of it.

Stefen returned just as they were wrapping up the days abridged lessons, the clothes from Themen in hand. There was relatively ordered chaos for a while as faces were scrubbed, bows were tied and shoes shined.

They were nearly ready when James looked up from where Tony was helping him fasten his suspenders, toward where Stefen was standing chatting with Bakhuizen on the couch, and asked curiously, “When are you going to sleep with the baroness?”

Stefen looked toward the boy with alarm crawling all over his face and choked on a swallow of coffee. Tony did not feel at all bad for him, but at least he stifled his snicker. Unlike Bakhuizen.

“Pardon me?” the captain snapped when he could breathe again, expression dumbfounded.

“When are you going to sleep with the baroness?” James repeated, heedless of the danger. “I heard the maids say that they didn’t think you’d slept with anyone since mama died. Julia said it’s a terrible waste.”

Stefen’s mouth dipped into a dangerous scowl and Tony bit his lip to keep from laughing. Tony had a feeling the maids were in for it when they got back.

“It’s not something for you to worry about.” Stefen replied stiffly but James was confused and embarrassed now, which just made for a battle of stubborn on stubborn.

“I’m _not_ worried and I’m not a baby like Artur, I can know things! What’s the big deal? It’s just sleeping.” the little boy insisted heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at his father.

“I’m not a baby!” Artur immediately snapped back. It would probably have been more convincing had he not had to take his fingers out of his mouth to do it.

And not that Tony didn’t appreciate the trickiness of the situation, but he couldn’t help but be anything but amused by the picture James and the captain made facing off with jaws clenched and arms crossed.

“We’re not discussing this. That’s the end of it!” Captain Rogers (and it was truly no less than the return of the vaunted Captain Rogers) snapped and James flinched, before swelling up like a puffer fish.

“Well I want to talk about it!”

Over on the couch Bakhuizen groaned like a man in need of a stiff drink.

“James, buddy, let it go. That’s no way to speak to your Da.” And before Stefen could open his mouth to add his two cents, he snapped in the captain’s direction.  “And any time you want to quit arguing with an eight-year-old, Charlotte’s waiting on us.”

That little matter settled (or not settled at all depending on your view) Bakhuizen called for a pair of cabs so that by the time the large family spilled out of the elevators (and Tony dragged James and Péter away from the attendant whom they were pestering with questions – a bright fellow who as it turned out was studying at the university when not working at the hotel, and whom Tony would really have liked to spend more time except Stefen had misplaced his priorities and insisted they couldn’t be late. As if his sweetheart was going to start without them) and finally made it out the front doors, they were right on schedule for a timely lunch with Baroness Schrader.

Stefen did not share Tony’s optimistic view, nervously twitching and grinding his teeth the entire drive to the cottage district; because it would just be the worst sort of shame if they offended his good friend the baroness. Tony, by contrast, was in a brilliant mood.

 

~*~~*~

 

Everyone said that Charlotte Shrader was a perfect match for Captain Rogers in every way. They were correct (but not for the reasons they thought they were).

They shared a certain familiarity, what with Charlotte’s grandmother being a Von Trap. She’d maid a fantastic marriage into a noble family (rich in title but hurting in purse) and even though the title was obsolete now, Charlotte had never been allowed to forget that she was related to emperors and princes (however distantly) though she didn’t care so much about that.

It certainly didn’t stop her being anxious as the vehicles carrying Stefen and his children pulled up the drive. It was not every day you met the children of the man you intended to marry.

“Are you nervous Frauline?” Agneta, her housekeeper, asked and Charlotte smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles in the skirt of her dress.

“I’ve never fared well with children. Let’s hope today proves to be the exception.” It wasn’t that Charlotte hated children, it was just that she’d never had any particular use for them. She was an only child herself with few cousins.

She’d always kept busy with a variety of activities and causes) had gained quite the reputation among the Viennese socialites for her forthright and formidable nature) and motherhood had never held any great appeal for her. 

In its way it was perfect that Stefen already had so many children. He was not likely to want more.

“They’re sure to love you as fiercely as the captain does.” Agneta reassured and Charlotte’s lips twisted into a dry little grin.

She had no doubt that at heart Captain Rogers was a very passionate man, but she would never apply that word to his regard for her. Their evening at the prince’s welcoming ball was a prime example if ever she’d needed one. He’d spent most of it either holding up the wall or talking about the military with Prince Thor, hardly paying any attention to her at all.

Charlotte Shrader was a perfect match for Captain Rogers because she knew him. He was a man who carried the world on his shoulders and war in his heart. His apathetic approach to their relationship might have broken a lesser woman. Charlotte was made of stronger stuff.

 

~*~~*~

 

The baroness served them in the garden. Her home was along the lines of what Tony had expected. Larger than what many could afford but quaint in its own way, filled with old furnishings and family heirlooms. The garden was well kept if somewhat unimaginative and Tony knew she didn’t spend any great deal of thought on it, leaving it to some likely overpaid Gardner.

It was dotted and line with cedar and maple trees, its crowning feature a glittering fish pond with a small bubbling fountain at the center.

The children, having already gobbled down their meal and grown bored with the adult conversation had been told to go “play, but they were mostly just wandering about the paved paths whispering amongst themselves. Natacha and Péter had elected to stay behind, perhaps to feel more adult, but Tony could tell Péter was regretting the choice as his eyes glazed with boredom.

Baroness Schrader certainly kept the conversation going, aided by Bakhuizen’s sharp wit, and Tony’s excellent conversational skills but Stefen had regressed to grunts and short answers, his discomfort at the table obvious. Tony did his best to relax him, steer the conversation away from those trigger topics he was noticing, and draw him out of his shell. He was having mixed success because it turned out that the Baroness was some sort of social activist and wanted to know the churches opinion on any number of topics that tended to make Stefen tight lipped. If Farkas only knew that Tony was being asked to speak for the church he’d probably roll his eyes back so far he’d lose the good one.

“Jobs are needed, absolutely, which is why more support should be given to the sciences. Industry is how we employ the public.” Tony was saying to Stefen’s suggestion that the previous years of civil unrest and poverty that had plagued the country was rooted in a lack of support for the common man. “As many people as you pay to think it, you employ ten times that to build it Captain.”

“Stark I’ve worked in the factories.” Stefen replied with a grim sigh, but he was sitting forward in his chair leaning toward Tony now, rebuttal practically leaping off his tongue which was all that Tony could really ask for even if they were in disagreement. “I’ve seen their conditions. We can’t keep allowing the wealthy to horde gains and squandering the rest. It’s a recipe for disaster every time.”

“You worked in a factory?” Charlotte asked, one blond brow quirked in interest and Stefen jerked his eyes toward her looking momentarily confused by her question before nodding jerkily. Tony wondered what the baroness thought of her beau getting his hands dirty on a factory floor. But if Charlotte thought anything of it at all she certainly didn’t let it show as she continued to sip from her cup.

“It paid the best, when you could find someone willing to give you a shift or two,” Bakhuizen filled in, waving the cigarette he held precisely between two fingers. “Stefen’s right, it was miserable. I prefer not to think about it. Let’s change the subject.”

“Yes. We’re all familiar with your preferences James,” the baroness murmured, a sly glint in her eyes and Bakhuizen chuckled richly. Seeing the curious expression on Natacha’s face the woman smiled, tilting her head toward Bakhuizen. “One day, a fellow like him is going to come along Natacha and try to convince you you’re his whole world. What he fails to tell you is that the next girl will be his stars and moon.”

“He’s a flirt.” Natacha stated candidly and Stefen snorted.

“Your uncle Bucky is just lucky the universe is so big else he’d run out of flattery.” Tony couldn’t help but laugh, hastily aborting a swallow of his spritzer. Even Bakhuizen threw back his head and laughed like this was the funniest thing he’d heard in a long time but Tony noticed that Natacha’s expression remained quite thoughtful.

“Stars are illusions.” She muttered almost under her breath. When she realized the odd looks she was getting she straightened, taking a dainty bite of pasty. “I just mean that we don’t see them as they actually are. They’re pretty only because we can’t get close to them. I don’t think I’d like being someone’s stars.”

“Really?” Péter needled, munching on a corner of his sandwich. He barely finished swallowing before he finished with, “I bet if one of those fellows you read about in your magazines called you his stars you’d give him a second look.”

Natacha gave him a sharp look and Péter winced, grumbling under his breath. Tony suspected she’d stomped on his foot.

“Your children are so clever Captain.” Charlotte turned to Stefen with a look that Tony could only classify as adoring. It seemed practiced. “You must bring them to the officer’s ball. Claudia would adore them.”

Natacha and Péter immediately perked up, squabble forgotten. The captain, Tony noticed, sat straighter in his chair, a tension appearing around the lines of his mouth that had not been there a moment before.

“It’s not a place for children.” He said and Natacha’s face fell. The baroness, seeing this, squeezed the arm she had entwined with the captain’s leaning all the closer and tilting her head in such a way that Tony knew only emphasized the length of her eyelashes.

“Oh don’t be such a bore Stefen. I was much older than these two when my parents started dragging me to balls. All our friends talk about it you know, how we never see your children. You’d think you were hiding them.”

And Tony couldn’t say what it was that made the pieces click together when they hadn’t before. Maybe it was the carefully blank expression on Bakhuizen’s face or the stiffening of Stefen’s shoulders. Maybe it was just hearing someone else say it out loud.

 _It’s as if you’re hiding them_.

And that was exactly it wasn’t it? Because Charlotte and the gossipy ladies of her social circle couldn’t know the full extent of it. How could they without the full picture?

They couldn’t know that before Tony’s arrival the children had not been outside their own home in three years and even before that they’d not traveled far. They couldn’t know that they had a list of mysterious ailments as long as Tony’s arm that had prevented them from going to public school or (until recently) engaging in the mandated Nazi youth program.

They had no reason to speculate on Stefen’s upbringing because as soon as they heard ‘farming town’ and ‘Poland’ they filled in with ‘poor and foreign’ and either sneered or politely ignored the subject entirely.

Consequently they weren’t there when his guard fell and those little nuggets fell out of the jumbled bag of puzzle pieces that made up his past.

They didn’t know about the mother that had taught Natacha to dance, or the grandfather who had made him and his brother of choice their first instruments (didn’t see him cut the music away from himself or care about the obvious scars left behind) and they didn’t know about the uncles – these faceless men he mentioned in the glaring absence of a father – and therefore could never fathom that the loss he carried around with him might be bigger than the death of his wife.

And most tellingly of all they didn’t know how much he loved his children, and therefore could not contemplate the things he might do to protect them.

That terror that he’d witnessed in Stefen’s eyes couldn’t be explained away by whatever rebellion he was involved in, because if that was the case he had only to stop. With what he had to lose Tony might not even have judged him too harshly. But Stefen did not behave like a man afraid of the consequences of his actions. He behaved like the hunted.

Tony could have kicked himself for not recognizing the pattern for what it was. Hadn’t he and his mother been kept out of the public eye, only to be trotted out when some necessity demanded it, their lives kept largely a mystery?

Hadn’t Tony been tutored privately and forbidden from doing anything that Hughard deemed too ‘Jewish’ or might lead someone to suspect he came from that stock? Hadn’t Hughard paid people to conveniently forget that Maria Carboni was a convert on Tony’s birth records? And hadn’t he, upon suspecting potential betrayal, arranged for Tony to be tucked out of sight in the one place he couldn’t be touched, even if it meant stripping away his entire identity?

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He clenched his hands under the table as he chest panged with pain. He didn’t want to believe that Stefen was anything like Hughard, or to sympathize with any of his father’s choices where Tony and his mother were concerned, but that he could admit was childish.

The man had not been a monster… but his mistakes had been many and while he was no longer alive to either realize that or make recompense, Stefen very much was and that, Tony knew, was the reason behind why he’d changed.

For better or for worse he’d taken them out of hiding.  It didn’t surprise Tony one bit when Stefen, after a long moment of consideration and a telling glance at Bakhuizen, slowly nodded in agreement.

“You might be right.” He allowed. And when his eyes caught Tony’s once more they pulled, filled with an unspoken plea that Tony answered with a small smile of reassurance. “Someone told me that I was overprotective. It’s hard to help, but we should go together. As a family.”

 

~*~~*~

 

Susann and Ret lived in an old apartment building not far from her shop. The walls of number ten Alcot Ave had survived for over a century and though were cracked and crumbling in some places they stood firm, ready it seemed to stand a century more.

The days were moving by too quickly. Stefen’s mornings filled with meetings and paperwork as the army mobilized itself and prepared to take its first steps into what inevitably would become a war for the world (for life as they knew it).

His evenings were spent with his family, and occasionally Charlotte whom Steve was relieved to see unaffected by the children’s addition to their limited time together. A gracious and practical woman to a fault, Steve had to agree with Bucky that she’d likely make a fine mother.

He could tell that she was not entirely comfortable in the arena of parenthood, but that was only to be expected. He had to give her credit for putting forth an effort at least. She’d asked permission to steal Natacha from her lessons that morning in order to take the girl with her to a breakfast with the Christian Women’s Charity Society.

It was one of the few organizations the Nazi’s had not yet banned, in an attempt to maintain the appearance of tolerance with the church. Many of these women had formally been members of the Fatherland Front before the Nazi party had taken control and even though Steve firmly disagreed with many of their views, it was a moot point now with the Reich in control. Old wounds weren’t worth denying Natacha a chance to bond with Charlotte. Things headed the way they were, that was more important now than ever.

The other children had wanted to spend the day at the Park but Steve and Bucky only had a short window of time to organize their mission and could not afford to waist the rest of the day. Still, he’d hated to disappoint them. He’d almost been glad when Thor’s invitation to join him at the opera that night had come it was a chance to ask the Prince for one more dangerous favor as well as please his children. He’d still had to agree to take them to the park another day (because they were no fools and nothing if not opportunistic) but when they’d left that morning for a trip to the Albertina museum for an art lesson they’d been in good spirits so Steve counted it as a win.

Susann answered the door after the first knock, wordlessly ushering him inside. Stepping into the small sitting room he stood awkwardly, his hat held between his hands until Susann insisted he take a seat and not to mind the clutter. Her brother Jonny was in town again and she said that between him and her nine-year-old son it was a wonder the place hadn’t fallen down.  Stefen didn’t mind the toys and other nick-knacks spread across the sitting room. It gave the small space a certain kind of intimacy that was missing in the grand homes.

“And how is Jon?” Steve asked out of politeness as Susann tidied up. She made a rude sound under her breath as she gathered the magazines on the coffee table into a small stack.

“Flighty as ever. Worse even, if you can imagine it, now that there is so much pressure to enlist. Of course, all Jonny wants to do is race.”

Stefen winced sympathetically.

“Dangerous profession.”

“Sport,” she corrected tiredly. “Everything is sport to Jonny.”

Steve was about to answer when one of the magazine’s slipped from her stack and fell to the floor. He moved just when she did to pick up the fallen object. He was faster.

The cover caught his eye and he paused, recognizing the picture before he ever read the title sprawled across the top in bold letters.

“Frank loves Captain Adventure.” Susann murmured lowly, gently prying the thin little book from his hands. “I didn’t see the harm.”

“You shouldn’t leave this out,” he warned, tensing under Susan’s assessing stare. “I know you think I’m being overbearing, but I don’t think you fully understand the risks you’re taking. I know I came here to ask you for help…”

Stefen swallowed past the tightness in his throat and clenched his hands. He was the worst sort of hypocrite, but he needed to say this.

“But I can’t help but think of Ret and Frank, and wonder what they would do without you. I wouldn’t blame you for sitting this out.”

He waited in the stiff silence for her reply, sure that it would be something sharp. She’d not taken well to his lecture the other morning about Frau Neumann and the reckless way she’d put herself and her family at risk. He was here because it was her choice, and Susann had watched a fair amount of choices be denied her already. He understood that too well, but he still did not want to see her get hurt.

“I understood the risks well enough when I subscribed to the magazine Stefen. Nothing has changed.” She spoke with carefulness as she took the seat next to him on the worn couch. She primly smoothed the wrinkles of her apron before pinning him with a frank stare.

“Except that if your information is correct, my husband is now deeply involved in a dangerous experiment that he cannot condone; but you know better than anyone the Reich leaves us with few choices. Conformity or rebellion is all there is Stefen. And much as I would like there to be, there is no middle ground. Not here.”

“You don’t have to be a martyr Susann, to feel you’ve done the right thing.” He shot back. “There is no shame in protecting your family. You have a responsibility to them too.”

“You’re blatantly missing my point. “ She tapped the cover where the brave young Captain was depicted facing off against a pair of soldiers while guarding a frightened woman. “Since the issues started coming everyone in the network has wondered who the artist is. Stefen, I think you are the last man on earth who can lecture me on martyrdom. I know that I can’t stop you, and I’m not sure I’d try if I could. ”

Steve started, going still with shock and Susann smiled thinly.

There was a moment of quiet while Steve processed her words, unable to come up with anything to say against them. She was right.

He returned Susann’s smile with a twist of lips somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

“Susann, you know that if I had a better way I wouldn’t have come to you?”

“Of course not. You always think that only you are responsible for taking the risks.” She replied with a sardonic lilt and Stefen didn’t bother trying to argue against that point either.

“Xavier is willing to finance the extraction.” He began and Susann nodded, attentively, her eyes narrowed slightly as she focused on him. “If Ret is willing to provide the Intel and help us recover Dr. Leshner it would help the mission to go a lot smoother.”

“We’re both willing.” Susann said with quiet conviction and Steve nodded in acknowledgement.

“The first step is to get the twins to safety. They will be coming on a river boat at an unspecified date and time. I will send word through the magazine but for security’s sake there won’t be much warning.” Steve instructed reaching into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrawing a pair of envelopes.

“An operative will bring them to your residence where they will need to stay until the boat leaves from Belgium. When the boat is in dock we’ll come and get them. This money is for their upkeep, and for you to make arrangements for transport to London for yourself and Frank.” Steve waved one of the envelopes and slipped it across the table. “When we pull Ret and the others out of Dachu you’ll need to be gone before the police come looking here. A number is in there to get in contact with the professor. You know what code to give him.”

Susann nodded, tucking the envelope into the pocket of her apron and glanced at the remaining one curiously, but she did not press.

 Lip twitching in the beginning of a smile Steve slid the second envelope toward her.

“This is for anyone you feel might need it,” he instructed with a meaningful look. She looked puzzled for a moment as she took it from him, her mind working quickly behind her eyes before it seemed to connect.

“I’ll have a devil of a time getting her to accept it but thank you Stefen. You’re a good man.”

The half-smile he’d been resisting slipped free. He wondered if it looked as sad as he felt.

 

~*~~*~

 

They went to the opera that night and sat in the box with Thor and Siv. Maria was instantly smitten with the prince (no surprise there) but unexpectedly (for Steve at least) he ended up as smitten with her as she was with him. He let her sit between him and Siv and answered all her many whispered questions about Norway (Where is it? Is it very green? Do they speak French there?) with attention and good humor.

She’d fallen quiet as the show began and seems almost transported by the story unfolding on stage. Her tiny lips falling open on shallow gasps when the singer’s voices soar with a varied spectrum of emotions, and when the two lovers are parted and the woman was singing out her lament, Steve caught tears in her eyes.

“She’ll either grow up to be a princess or a singer now for sure,” Tony whispered breath warm in his ear and Stefen bit back a grin.

“With you as a teacher Stark I’m sure she’ll manage both,” he turned slightly, leaning close to Tony to murmur. He could see the amusement glinting in his eyes even in the dark.

At the end of the evening Thor gave them all a warm goodbye but abandoned protocol altogether to hug Maria and call her ‘skatten min’.

“You and your family must come to Norway Captain, I insist. My daughter would love the opportunity to make so many new friends.” He said once he’d set the child free. Siv was giving him an indulgent smile but nodded in agreement.

“Your daughter has promised us a song captain. A lady keeps her word.”

Maria nodded with all the seriousness of a legislature passing law and looked up at Stefen.

“We have to go Father. Your word is your bond.”

Tony cackled and biting back a smile Steve nodded politely, thanking the prince for his invitation and gently pulling the child away, wondering how on earth his children had ended up so dramatic.

 

~*~~*~

 

_The hills are alive with the sound of music_

_With songs they have sung for a thousand years_

The pencil scratched against the paper as the children’s voices floated out through the open balcony doors. Bucky’s violin accompanied their voices in sweet haunting melody as lines filled the blank page of the sketchbook propped open in his lap, as Stefen attempted to capture the intense focus Tony brought to the music lesson (the gentleness of his hands as he straightened backs, placed palms on bellies to guide deep breaths) and the gleam of accomplishment in the children’s eyes with every soaring note.

He smiled as he worked, the familiar words of the old song taking him back: to being young, to festivals hand in hand with a pretty girl (his heart beating like a hummingbird, eyes stuck on painted lips in nervous anticipation) to long walks back from factories (coming over the hill and seeing the campfire, smelling the food cooking in the big pot, hearing the ghels singing and the uncles playing their instruments as the others worked, feeling his heart lighten enough to take another tired step toward home Bucky’s arm slung over his shoulder in steady support).

_The hills fill my heart with the sound of music_

_My heart wants to sing every song it hears_

He looked up, catching Bucky’s eye across the space through the open doors and realized that the low vibration in his chest was humming, coming from him no less. Bucky winked at him and Steve let the tension in his shoulders slide away, returning to his task.

He didn’t agree with Susann, that he was a good man. He’d known better. Men who hadn’t had half his chances and who had died before they ever got even close to what they’d deserved. Then there was Steve, who got everything and didn’t deserve half of it.

For the first time in years he found himself thinking about the mandolin his grandfather had made him.  They’d come back from the war. Steve had only been sixteen but he remembered it, like it was yesterday…

~*~

_They come home after three long years. Steve’s no longer the boy who left, and it’s not just a difference in height, or the layers of muscle that have begun to cling to his frame. It’s in the age of his eyes, the new fear in them._

_They’re both afraid that when they get to Nowy Sącz that they’ll find their family gone, and that the money they’ve been sending home has been squandered by the man they pay at the post office._

_They knew it wasn’t the Romany way to stay when they left. They are exiles now, citizens of a great gadje empire. The caravan will have moved on a long time ago to see their fortunes through on the great wheel and unless they wanted to become exiles themselves their family will have left with them._

_They’d begged their mothers to trust them to send money because that winter was not like others. That winter killed gadje and rom alike aided by the teeth of war. When the soldiers don’t wreck their camps and rape their women, they freeze in their beds. Still, most would rather die with the familia than to be without._

_The worst sort of fear grips them when they come home to an empty clearing. No Roma have been in the area for over a year._

_But the postman swears that Bucky’s mother came in two months back to pick up their last package. He says they move around a lot, the police don’t like vagrants and that they’ve probably been run off. Bucky beats him to pulp just for saying so._

_They find them eventually, a few towns over, living on the outskirts of a dairy farm._

_Bucky’s sister looks up first. She doesn’t recognize them until Bucky calls out ‘Rochel’ and then she’s running across the field toward them with tears in her eyes._

_Steve’s so afraid his mother won’t know him when she sees him, but she holds him as if he’s still frail and tiny and tells him that there is an old man living in his body. He cries._

_They learn that Bucky’s mother died before they made it home. He gets drunk and throws up for hours. Won’t speak to anybody. Even Steve._

_Steve brawls with Bucky’s Da when he catches him muttering that it was the broken heart that killed her. No son. No familia. They’re all nothing now._

_He’s drunk and bitter but Steve fights him anyway because he’s not little anymore and they’re alive. That’s what they are, and it’s thanks to Bucky that his father’s got beer to drink in the first place._

_And that’s how it goes for a while in their broken camp full of ghosts. Steve fights every mean eyed drunk with something nasty to say about them and drags Bucky out of bars when Bucky isn’t dragging him._

_Steve’s grandfather chops down a tree._

_For Bucky he makes a violin, like the one Uncle Ludo used to let him play. For Steve he makes a mandolin and uses every last penny they have to get the instruments finished until they’re glossy as anything._

_He carves their names in tiny dancing letters over the necks: Ian, Sara, James, Stefen, Rachel, Rochel, Bastian… Because they are familia, and they’ve got to keep pushing forward. Forward and together is the only way forroma._

_“To be roma is to suffer today, laugh tomorrow.” Is all he says when he hands them over. Then he demands to know what is taking the women so long with supper._

~*~

He still remembered the first time he’d held it. The way it had gleamed in the firelight. The impeccable craftsmanship, made by his grandfather’s withered but sure hands (hands that had taught a hundred others and been taught by similar hands). It was simple in design, but beautiful for that in Steve’s mind, built to withstand a lifetime of travels and hardship. Just like they were.

Peggy had liked to hear him play. And even after… when it had become too painful to look at it anymore, he’d been unable to throw it away like he’d thrown everything else.

He was suddenly profoundly glad for that.

_I go to the hills when my heart is lonely_

_I know I will hear what I've heard before_

_My heart will be blessed with the sound of music_

_And I will sing once more._

Good man? He didn’t think so. But these days he thought that if he could somehow get back some of that skinny Roma boy he’d once been, he might not land somewhere half bad.

Forward and together was the only way.

~*~~*~

 

_As Cincirenella went tearing along,_

_Atop of his box he'd be singing a song,_

_Blithely he'd brave both the wind and the rain,_

_Trit_ _-trot, trit-trot, he'd sing his refrain!_

_*_

With the Prince’s departure looming the much anticipated trip to the park finally occurred near the end of that week. Stefen, Tony, and the children set out early (outfitted in their brand new play clothes) and in good spirits. They took a carriage to the station instead of a cab because Maria wanted to see the horses again. During the ride Tony taught them an old song about a man and the mule who had pulled his cart and they’d gleefully sung it the rest of the way.

They took the train into Rotunde Station. James had been excited to show off what they’d learned in that mornings lesson about the railway system to the indulgent ticket man, but as the line behind them was rather less indulgent Stefen had hurried them along with the promise that there would be plenty more train riding to be had.

Tony averted any potential sulking by teaching them the brief history of the Liliputbahn and promising that they’d have plenty of opportunities to ride it while within the park. He and Péter had gotten caught up in a discussion about fossil fuels, engines and possibilities for more powerful energy sources when he noticed how quiet Ian was being.

While his siblings were happily twisted in their seats to press their faces close to the windows and watch the scenery go by he was sitting hunched, staring blindly out the window as if he didn’t see any of it. Oblivious to the excited chatter going on around him.

Frowning, Tony called for the boy’s attention and patted the empty seat next to him (Artur having claimed a spot on his father’s lap some time ago). Silently Ian crossed the isle and gingerly took the seat offered to him. His shoulders were still slumped but the tension in them eased somewhat when Tony wrapped an arm around him.

“The last time we were on a train I was ten. We were with our Baka.” Péter said unexpectedly and Tony blinked at him, wondering at the sadness that had crept into the boy’s voice. Péter was looking at Ian though, who had lifted his head up just enough to give away the close attention he was paying to the conversation.

“Do you remember Ian?” Péter prompted and both he and Tony waited patiently for Ian to decide to speak. When he did, his voice was quiet and scratchy like he was hovering on the verge of tears.

“I was excited because it was just us boys… only not Artur, because he was still a baby like Sara and he has trouble breathing sometimes.”

“We went all over,” Péter reminisced. “She wanted us to see all the places she’d been in Austria. I don’t know why.”

“It was so we could hear the stories,” Ian chimed in, sounding more vehement than Tony thought he’d ever heard him. “She told me that once she was gone, that I had to remember because they wouldn’t be in any books. Only I don’t remember them very well. I didn’t do what she said.”

“How old were you?” Tony asked, sympathy lacing his tone and Ian hunched further in on himself until he was almost hugging his knees. He didn’t answer.

“He was seven. He was her favorite I think…” Péter answered for him in a subdued way, and when Tony opened his mouth to say whatever reassurances you said when a child said something like that, Péter’s mouth just twisted into a lopsided smile and he shook his head. “It’s okay Tony, I know she loved all of us. But Ian’s named after our great grandfather and that meant a lot to her. She used to say that children are the only way to cheat death… whatever that means.”

Tony smiled sadly, pulling Ian closer to his side.

“I think it means you reminded her of him. And seven is pretty young to remember so much… but you know, I bet your father remembers a lot.”

“He never talks about her.” Ian denied with a shake of his head and a startlingly contemptuous expression. “He forgot all about her, and mother.”

Tony chanced a look in the captain’s direction. Outwardly he appeared preoccupied watching the window as Artur pointed at something outside, but Tony could tell by the clench of his jaw that he had heard.

“I don’t think that’s true.” Tony began carefully. “It’s just that, when you love someone a lot and then you lose them, it can be hard to talk about them.”

Ian clenched his jaw but didn’t refute Tony. At least not with words, because Tony was an expert by now with that particular Rogers family expression.

“You know, in my family when someone dies we make a point to sit together and think about them. Sometimes, just having someone sitting beside you when you feel loss like that can make all the difference. But talking can be good too.” Tony explained slowly, looking up as if pulled by some magnet to find Stefen watching them. “Remembering them is how we show that their soul touched ours. By sharing our stories and memories of them, whether good or bad, we soothe the souls of the living.”

Ian stared at him for a long while, chewing on the words thoughtfully as he slowly relaxed against him.

“Do you have a grandmother?” he asked Tony after a long moment and a picture of Nonna’s face as he’d last seen it leaped into Tony’s head, hazy with the recollection of age.

“I do.” Tony answered.

“Did she die like mine did… like my mother did?”

Tony clenched his hands, struck by the realization that he wasn’t sure. Maybe Obadiah would have thought to write him if his grandmother had passed. Probably not. It wasn’t as if they’d kept in contact. The Carbonis had been held at a distance before Tony was even born. The reality was that Nonna and Nonno could very well have died and Tony would have no idea. But the thought was too painful to bear so Tony shoved it away, buried it so far down it would have no chance of rising again to haunt him.

“She’s alive. But my mother...” Tony’s voice cracked and he winced, carefully not looking back at the captain, feeling too exposed for words but unable to let it go with Ian looking up at him so woefully. “My mother isn’t either.”

Ian’s brow furrowed in sympathy. Wordlessly he wiggled back into the seat, leaning so that his blond head rested in the crook of Tony’s shoulder. Tony stiffened in surprise - Ian was not usually as cuddly as his other siblings – but as minutes ticked passed and Ian seemed content there, he slowly relaxed.

Fondly he ran his hands through the boy’s soft hair, allowing himself to think about his mother. He’d never sat Shiva for his parents or Yinsen. At the time their deaths had been too sudden, too horrific, for him to contemplate anything but drinking himself into numbness and by the time he’d sobered it had seemed too late. He’d been running from their memories ever since.

Tony took a ragged breath and looked at Stefen who looked back at him with concern. There was gratefulness in the way he was clutching Artur, but some skittishness held him in grip, causing him to swallow and clench and unclench his hands.

Tony mouthed for him to relax and smiled to himself, turning to look out his window.

Everything would be fine. Today would be a day full of great memories. Tony would make sure of it.

 

~*~*~

 

The children loved Prater Park. By the time they’d ridden the giant Ferris Wheel and looked out over Vienna from its top the somber mood that had dampened spirits on the train was long forgotten. Ian was just as excited as the others to be up so high and see so wide. They stopped at little trinket stands and snack shops and for once Stefen didn’t think about the cost of things as he bought pins and ribbons for the girls and (to Artur’s delight) warm gingerbread dusted with sugar to tide them over till lunch.

The children insisted on riding every ride, but the biggest hit was the merry go-round. Steve was happy to watch from the sidelines as they went around in circles, but he let Tony pull him with them when they discovered the joy of the giant swing. Observing Tony in the seat beside him, eyes bright and hair windsept with the most childish grin splitting his face, Steve wished furiously that he’d thought to bring his sketchbook.

He felt it again when they rode the train up to the Green Prater and had lunch in a little garden café in the shade of the chestnut trees. There were two peasant boys in lederhosen playing the zither, singing love songs about pretty eyes and pretty mouths on prettier girls, and all Steve could do was look at Tony with the flush of summer high in his cheeks as he clapped along to the music with Sara.

He recognized the urge to grab him for what it is.

It was the desperate want to claim Tony’s mouth and silence all that ceaseless chatter, the need (so big it’s frightening) to grab him and hold on because everything else just wasn’t steady and Tony has becoming solid ground for them all.

He looked at Ian, who was smiling and singing along with the others to lyrics he didn’t really know, and it was hard to breathe with the weight of his gratitude. That they are all here, having this moment, was a miracle of Tony’s influence. Every day was like waking up from a hundred years of sleep - and though his body still aches and his muscles are slack with atrophy Steve take another staggering step toward home every moment that he spends with them.

The closer he got to them, the more he hated the thought of having to let go.

They went walking under the shady trees after lunch to let their stomachs settle and he and Tony talked while the children skipped ahead on the paths. Tony told funny stories about his first years at the abbey and Steve couldn’t help but laugh at some of his youthful antics, even if they largely disagreed on how inappropriate some of his behavior had been (particularly where a certain Brother Tiberius was concerned). Tony spoke fondly of the monk who’d run the infirmary, so much so that Steve felt a twinge of jealousy at how often the man’s name came up.

He was distracted from the feeling when Maria skipped back to present them both with bracelets she’d weaved together out of edelweiss. His throat clenched tight at the site of the little white flowers but he let her slip it on his wrist anyway and tried not to blush when Tony beamed at him. The world didn’t end and the memories thankfully stayed at bay as they walked in the summer air. They were from his daughter and there was something precious about that in itself- but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from flicking back to where their match sat on Tony’s wrist and thinking he liked the way the petals looked against his olive skin.

But before long the children demanded they return to the amusement park and so they went, indulging in the sights and sounds and carnival games. They ran into the Osborn boy who was with a group of young people Steve could only assume to be school friends. He was surprised to learn Harry was starting school at Theresian Academy. It sent a sharp jolt through Steve to see the boy in the cadet uniform- a somewhat plainer, version of the SS standard. The cost of what was being promised to the cadets at those schools was standing right in front of him in the form of Henry Osborn, a boy turning soldier before he’d even turned sixteen.

It was hard for Steve to let Péter go off with them when he asked, every instinct he had telling him to snatch his son by the hand and lead him as far away from those cadets as possible. But he had no reason to refuse and knew it would only cause Péter embarrassment if he tried to tie him up with apron strings. Still he did not relax until Tony placed a hand on his back and nodded toward the other children who were quickly becoming in danger of getting lost in the crowd.

“We’d better carry on.”  

James and Artur wanted to see the freak show but Tony did not seem eager and Stefen resolutely turned them away when he spotted a tent at the entrance with a bright painted sign out front that heralded people to come have their palms read.

Artur was quickly on to the next thing, but James pouted for as long as he could hold out before he was in danger of missing out on the fun of a Punch and Judy show.

Of course afterwards, all the children could talk about was the puppets they were building back home and the prospect of putting on a show of their own. Steve had never smiled so much.

“Step right up! This game separates the men from the boys. Are there any men in the crowd? Step right up and ring the bell. A ring wins a teddy bear. How about you Sir, win a teddy for the little lady?” an operator, catching sight of Tony walking hand in hand with Sara, beckoned and Steve smirked as Tony was forced into complying by Sara’s puppy dog eyes going wide at the sight of the stuffed bear in the operator’s hands.

“What’s the matter Tony? Afraid you can’t hit that little bell?” Steve teased and Tony huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Please, Stefen. It’s simple math. Even if I couldn’t determine the amount of force needed I could do this in my sleep.”

Steve smirked as Tony took the hammer from the operator and swung, cocky grin faltering when the meter faltered well under the bell.

“That is impossible. It has to be rigged.” He glowered at the operator who was laughing heartily and he turned a sour look on Steve and the children who weren’t bothering to suppress their laughter either.

“Maybe you’re not as strong as you think you are Tony,” Steve suggested innocently and he laughed when Tony shot him a scathing look.

“You want to give it a shot Mr. Strongman?”

He took the hammer from Tony with a sly grin and gestured for him to stand aside. Stepping up, he shot a glance at the operator and flicked his eyes toward the back panel where he knew the lever was hidden. The operators’ brows raised and a delighted grin split his cheeks as Steve swung the hammer.

A cheer rose up as the bell dinged loudly and a smattering of applause broke out among the bystanders who had paused to watch when he struck it once more for good measure.

Sara bounced up and down with excitement as Steve shook the operators hand and received his prizes. She beamed happily when Steve handed her the teddy bear. When Steve handed Tony the second one he accepted it with far less grace.

“What is this? Do I look like a child to you Stefen?”

“I don’t know Tony, you are – “

“You finish that sentence you dirty little cheat and I’ll take that hammer to you.”

“- on the small side.”

“I am a perfectly respectable size Stefen, and a paragon of masculine virtues I’ll have you know.” Tony huffed, clutching the ridiculous stuffed toy to his chest with one arm and snatching up Sara’s hand with the other. Though there was a smile tugging at Tony’s mouth she took her cue from him and turned up her nose at Steve as if she found the suggestion that Tony was anything but the tallest of men as offensive as he did. They looked like a matched set with their flowers and their teddy bears.

Stefen laughed so hard his belly hurt.

Later when they were having dinner in the Swiss House he teased Tony about it and the monk threw his napkin at him.

“Don’t irritate me Stefen, and that stupid game is rigged. Just admit it!”

“Of course it’s rigged Tony.” Steve rolled his eyes, mouth stretched in a grin.

“Really?” James gapped. “How do you know?” and Stefen answered with a somewhat bashful shrug.

“I used to do the rigging.”

~**~

 

Harry had come to the park with Johann, who Péter learned would also be attending the academy that year. Péter didn’t know one of the girls with them but he recognized the pretty blond as one of his former classmates. Gwendolyn Staša had always been shy and sweet and popular with the other girls in the classroom as well as the boys. Harry used to tease her by pulling out her hair ribbons.

She seemed to have forgiven him, at least to be civil enough to spend the day with him and her friend, whom she’d introduced as Miss Anamarie Adler. Though she was also from Salzurg, Anamarie was as different from Gwen as could be. The two were like day and night, with Anamarie’s dark brown hair and moss green eyes with their permanently cagy gleam.

It was clear by the plainness of her clothes and the rough twang in her speech that she did not come from a family of means like they did, which Johann spent most the afternoon sneering not so subtly about, but she gave as good as she got and didn’t seem to think highly of his intelligence.  Harry seemed to find her and her antics with Johann humorous but Péter wondered if that wasn’t just because Gwen looked very pretty that day and was allowing him to hold her hand.

But neither she nor Harry seemed willing to curb Johann’s behavior, and Péter couldn’t help but think back to the old Jew they’d watched get beaten in Salzburg, and that story their father had told him.

“Knock it off Johann. You’re being an ass” he heard himself say before he’d even decided and Johann had fallen silent, more out of surprise than rebuke. Harry had laughed out loud and clapped him on the back.

“Look at you ready to defend her honor. We’ll make a soldier out of you yet Péter. I still can’t believe your father finally let you out of the house.”

Though Péter’s cheeks had flushed pink with mortification when Gwen had looked at him curiously he couldn’t be too mad at Harry because truthfully, neither could he.

It was so hard to believe that the man who’d brought them to Vienna was his father, that sometimes he thought he’d blink only to find that he’d dozed off in his bedroom back home.

As the fireworks burst over the park that night Péter wondered if they were high enough for the whole city to see. There was something nice about thinking of everyone in Vienna under the same bright stars and colorful lights. He wondered sometimes (even if he was either too afraid or unsure of who to ask) how it was supposed to be that some people were better or worse than others when the universe was so huge. What did it matter what you looked like or how much money you had? The sky sat over everyone, and they were all equally small under it.

Staring up at the beautiful display of exploding lights in the sky made him think of Tony’s tower again.  It would be great, he thought, to build a place where everyone really could be the same, where people didn’t worry so much about the things that made them different. In a place like that people would have less room for petty thoughts and more room for the curiosities of the universe. Péter had always thought there was so very much to be curious about but his father had never appreciated curiosity very much.

Péter’s mouth tightened.

Father never liked to be bothered with any of Péter’s questions or wanted to help him with experiments the way that Tony did. Sometimes he even got the feeling that his father was embarrassed by him. No one wanted a skinny weakling for a son who would rather be learning about gravity than learning to throw a punch.

He grit his teeth, trying not to let the thought bother him. He was so tired of trying to figure out what to do in order to make his father happy. He said he wanted them to study and take advantage of their education but hated it that Péter was ‘too smart’. He said he loved them but Tony always had to bug him to spend time with them. He hated the Nazis and the things they stood for and yet he wore their uniform and one day soon they were’ going to call him and he’d go and fight for them.

He didn’t want to be like that, Péter decided. Saying one thing and doing another.

“You can’t escape up there you know.”

Péter jumped, startled to find that Anamarie had vacated her spot on the grass next to Gwen and was now sitting very close to him. In the dark her upturned eyes gleamed with every flash and burst above their heads. Péter felt like his tongue weighed a thousand pounds. She smiled at him.

“How do you know what I was thinking?” he managed to mumble, because it had been a strange thing to say when really he could have been thinking anything at all. Anamarie leaned back on her palms and shrugged.

“I’m good at reading people. My mother calls it my seventh sense.”

“Seventh. What’s the sixth?” Péter asked, curious and she laughed.

“Finding trouble.” She winked at him and when his face flushed hot once more she rolled her shoulders and leaned forward, like she was about to whisper something intimately into his ear. “You were easy. There’s a show going on but you were looking at the stars, wanting to be anywhere but where you are.”

Péter’s mouth fell open slightly but he quickly closed it. He shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her speculatively out of the corner of his eye.  He wondered how she’d been able to tell he hadn’t just been watching the fireworks in the dark.

“I was thinking about science actually. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not, because I’m a girl? You know Péter despite what they teach us in eugenics class girls can be interested in science too.” she drawled and Péter winced. Way to stick his foot in his mouth.

“I know that. Some of the best scientists have been girls, Tony, my teacher, taught me about Marie Curie, and without her we wouldn’t have the theory of radioactivity. But that’s just my point. She was polish right? And a woman, so she wasn’t supposed to be able to do half of what she did. And it’s just stupid, don’t you think?” he asked, desperate to figure out how to say it all, and have someone understand the things he had been wrestling with. He couldn’t risk talking with one of the adults. Even Tony. Because Péter had examined the data over and over and the only conclusion that kept coming up was that everybody was wrong. Dead wrong.

Madame Curie could have done so much more if people had cared less about stupid things that clearly didn’t make the difference they thought they did. The science journals decried Einstein for being a Jew but they were just as wrong about him. They were wrong about so much, but there was nothing Péter could do about it. If his father, a respected commander in the army, was too scared stand up against them then what could Péter do?

 “You’re smart Péter Rogers.” Anamarie’s voice was hushed, barely perceptible under the pop and boom of the lightshow. She was staring straight ahead now so that if Péter had been watching them he might not even know she was talking to him. “And you behave like you know what it means to be a good person, but do you act on it?”

His pulse leaped with sudden fear, as the reality of his stupidity sank in. Sure Anamarie wasn’t an officer’s child like him and Gwen, and her father didn’t run a big business like Johann or Harry, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t find the courage to tell on him. Péter hadn’t needed to spend more than a few hours with her to know that if there was one thing she was short on it wasn’t courage. When she turned and looked at him he felt pinned in place like a bug to a show board.

“Or do you just look at stars?” she asked with a bite.

“Huh?” Péter gaped at her, unsure what she meant or what she was thinking as she turned back to the fireworks. She didn’t speak for a long time, and he became horribly anxiously certain that she was angry about what he’d said (and not said). And then she took him by complete surprise by turning and pressing a kiss to his cheek, whispering softly in his ear.

“Number Thirteen, Judengasse. Tell them you’re a friend of Rogue.”

~**~*~

 

Getting the children to bed that night was easy after such an eventful day. Sara had crashed during the cab ride and the others weren’t far behind. While Tony got the other little ones settled in the bed (shoes off being the only requirement that night) Steve slipped into the room that Péter and Ian were sharing, and watched as the boys sleepily got ready for bed.

Leaning against the door with his arms awkwardly crossed he wished he could help, if only to have somewhere to begin, but Péter would balk at being tucked into bed at fourteen and Ian didn’t like to be babied any more than Steve had at eleven, or any age for that matter.

His lips curved in amusement Steve crossed the room once both boys were settled and sat on the end of the bed, aware of their eyes on him. At least they did not look fearful.  Steve counted that as a small favor. He’d not done much to deserve their trust but he was trying to rectify that.

He’d been so selfish with his grief before, he realized that now, but it didn’t make opening up any easier. He was still so afraid of what could happen to them all… but he’d been a coward too long already.

Breathe. He reminded himself. Breath in, breath out. He was at the Grand Hotel Vienna, sitting in his children’s bedroom. It was half past eleven.

“Father?” Péter’s questioning voice sliced through the edge of panic and Steve let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry boys, if you’ve felt I was keeping you from your grandmother’s memory all these years. It wasn’t my intent.” Steve began, the words coming with difficulty each one harder than the last. “Your Baka was an amazing woman; you should know that. I’m very proud to be her son.”

“You told me I couldn’t say her name.” Péter challenged stiffly from the bed, voice going tight. Beside him Ian tensed, as if he were afraid of what Steve might do and Steve’s chest ached. He pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting for another deep breath.

He could do this. He owed them this.

“I was afraid.”

“When you’re afraid of something you have to face it.” Ian reminded him, because hadn’t Steve said that a million times to them over the course of their young lives – when they came to him with scrapes and bruises and nightmares, when he’d walked into the music room and found them huddled under Peggy’s piano still smelling of the funeral flowers?

What a hypocrite he’d been.

“You’re right, Ian. Your Baka taught me that, and her courage always gave me courage. I realize… that it was easy before to stand up to the bullies, or the fear of death, because I wasn’t really afraid of any of those things. Not really.” Steve swallowed past the tightness in his throat. “But I was afraid of losing your Baka, and I behaved badly because of it. And I’m sorry.”

Stefen looked to Péter first and then Ian almost unable to bear to do it, but he’d hurt them too much already by not being strong enough to do the things he should do. The least he could do was not hide from an apology. Péter didn’t say anything but Ian crawled out from under his covers to kneel in front of Steve on the bed like a child preparing to say his prayers.

“We all have bad in-clin-ations sometimes Vati,” he said, slowly over the unfamiliar word, and Steve wanted to chuckle (because that had Tony written all over it) but Ian had called him daddy, which he had not done in what was dangerously close to half his life now and he was struck by a fierce burning in his eyes and the urge to sob.

Ian was all seriousness, all innocence and earnestness, as he informed Steve that everyone messed up and did things they weren’t proud of, but it was never too late to do the right thing.

Blinking back the burn in his eyes Steve took a shallow breath, gesturing for Ian and Péter both to move closer. They did, wordlessly, sitting close so that their knees brushed his upon the bed.

“I want to tell you a story.” He began. “But this is not a story you can tell anyone else. Not yet. It isn’t safe. I’m trusting you both because I know you’re old enough to understand that. One day, when it’s safe I want you to tell the others.”

He watched curiosity, then excitement, and then finally sobriety flash across their faces in turn as they sat up in the bed, waiting earnestly for him to continue.

“You can trust us, Father.” Ian promised, his countenance dripping sincerity. He looked to Péter for confirmation before turning back to Steve and swearing, “We won’t tell anybody.”

Steve believed him. He knew that neither of them would willingly do anything to hurt the family but they were still just children. They could not be responsible for knowing what may or may not be dangerous to say, not completely.  

He hesitated for a long moment, unable to determine whether the powerful urge to take it back was gut instinct or fear. He’d learned to trust his instincts, but he was also learning that he’d been confusing the two for far too long.

Silently he prayed that this would not come back to hurt them. It was all he could do.

“Long ago, there was a young woman whose name was Sara. She was born into a roma tribe called the Lăutari **.** They are called that because they are musicians and dancers by trade. For hundreds of years they’ve traveled from place to place, beguiling people with their music and their dances in exchange for food or money. Nobody knows where they started, or where they are going. Because for the rom it’s not about the beginning or the destination. It’s about the journey they take together. They don’t believe land or the comforts it provides is something any one person can own… it’s something to be experienced and shared together.

“But living like that makes other people nervous. People call them thieves because they take what doesn’t belong to them, and maybe they have a point, but maybe the Rom way isn’t bad either. But rom don’t make the rules so nobody cries when they get killed or thrown in prison. Nobody protests when kings say that they can’t live on their land or work for a living unless they are slaves.

“You have already heard many Germans say that the people they call gypsies aren’t really people… but know that they’re wrong. The rom remember for each other, and share their stories with each other, because no matter what tribe this rom comes from or that rom comes from they are all of them familia.

“The rom follow few laws, but they live by the code, the _romano_ … and part of that code is not to mix with outsiders.

“Sara broke that code when she fell in love with a potter from Zadar who was as fair of face and hair as she was dark. Though her potter was willing to travel with them and teach his craft, when she became pregnant with a baby boy her caravan was very angry. They called him _gadje,_ which means ‘not rom’, and they expelled her from the familia. Her father Ian refused to leave her, because she was his last living blood and for rom to travel alone means death. Other rom will know you have been exiled and shun you, and the true gadje will continue to shun you as they always have.

“Ian, Sara, and her potter made the best of it, traveling from town to town always wondering where the next meal would come from, and it wasn’t helped any that her baby was small and sickly and could not be left alone.

“One day they were sure that he would die, if he could not get warm or fed, but there was nowhere to go and no one who would help. But that night a Bayash caravan made camp not far from them. Sara bundled her baby up and went to them despite the risk of being kicked and chased away with stones and pleaded with the Phuri Dae – the wise woman – for a chance to share their pot and their fire that night.

“It just so happened that Rachel, the daughter of the Rom Baro – that is the one they call the leader of the clan – was having a difficult labor. It had forced them to stop sooner than they’d planned, and her painful cries could be heard throughout the camp. Sara was very gifted with herbs and medicines. When the Phuri Dae learned that she’d delivered her baby without any help, and had kept her baby alive despite the hardships, they struck a deal. If she would help Rachel then Sara and her familia could share their fire for a night.

“Sara helped save Rachel and her baby girl, whom they named Rochel which meant ‘battle cry’. Learning that Sara was in exile Rachel pleaded with her father to offer her a place in the clan. The Rom Baro was very grateful as well, but Sara refused to leave the rest of her family behind and he did not want a gadje and his offspring in the camp because they were unclean.

“But Rachel insisted, and the Phuri Dae warned that terrible luck would follow if he repaid Sara’s kindness by allowing her child to die. And so, the Rom Baro welcomed Sara to his clan, and that is the story of how your Baka lost her family and found it again. I know it is true because I was there, I am the baby that Sara had with the potter. I saw them and ate with them.”  

 

~*~~*~

 

It was always crowded in Müttermilch this time of night, and Bucky was happy to see that this evening was no exception. Milch, as the locals called it, wasn’t the only pub house along the river but it was right on the dock and Etta (the mother in mother’s milk) made the best sausage in town, making it a popular choice for the sailors coming in off the Danube.

It wasn’t a fancy place by any means, and the sailors and seamen who made up the bulk of their clientele could be a rough sort, but Etta and Henrick kept the place neat and didn’t put up with nonsense. The cellar was always warm, well lit, and the smell coming from Etta’s ovens inviting.

When he walked in that night Hedwig (Etta and Henrick’s middle girl) was at the bar. She smiled brightly when she recognized him and Bucky gave her a wink before going to claim a table in the corner, in view of the door but tucked away from the others crowding the bar.

A moment later Hedwig came with a menu and a frothing mug of beer. Bucky smiled at her because he appreciated a woman who knew how to greet a fellow and it had been too long since he’d had the pleasure of a beautiful woman in his bed. His nights were full now, chasing rabbit trails. It was enough to drive a man to drink.

“Herr Bakhuizen, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“So am I back to Mr. now?” Bucky asked with an arched brow as he took a swallow from the mug. Hedwig hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been through (what eight months ago?) all plump curves and buttermilk skin.

“No backing out of it Hedy, I’m meeting a fellow and he’s only got a short stop before he’s headed up the river.”

“Mama is still sore with you.” Hedwig clucked her tongue, a teasing glint in her grey eyes. “And Vati says that if you were a decent man you’d never have run off on our Nele.”

Bucky winced. Nele was the older girl and if he was remembering right (and Bucky always remembered this sort of thing right) she had an even rounder ass than Hedy. They’d had a bit of a thing before the work had called him away.

Laughing at his expression Hedwig shook her head at him.

“Don’t bother yourself about it James. Nele knew you weren’t the staying kind when she took up with you. She cried for a day or two and then when all the soldiers came in spring she was in fine color. She got married this summer to an officer.

“German?” Bucky asked, eyebrows rising and she nodded.  Bucky grunted, stifling the urge to say something rude. Nele was a nice girl. It was probably a good thing she’d ended up married to someone decent, instead of shackled to the likes of him, though he wasn’t much sold on the decency of Germans.

The door swished open once more as a pair of loudly laughing men entered (well one of the pair was laughing, the other one just looked surely and put upon). The sound of the happy ones voice carried over the crowd. Bucky was relieved to see that one of them was the man he was waiting to see, though he was surprised to see he’d brought someone. He waved for the man’s attention and when Kirk nodded in acknowledgment he turned back to Hedwig.

“Another beer Hedy and a plate of –” he began to order but Hedwig just cut him off with an indulgent smile.

“And a plate of Vati’s schnitzel. I know what you like James.” Leaning close to his ear while she plucked the menu out of his hand, the curve of one breast brushing against his shoulder, she said on a low breath, “And I’m just fine with it.”

Well. Bucky grinned as she departed, contemplating an evening that was suddenly looking more interesting by the minute. He was still watching the sway of her hips when Kirk plopped down in the seat across from him, emitting a low chuckle.

“Hedy knows what she’s about, but I’d be careful if I were you. She has a mean right hook.” The blond warned.

Bucky snorted and asked in his own broken English (less chances of being overheard that way).

“How do you know?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell Jaime my boy.” Kirk grinned at him and snickered. “Jesus your English is terrible. You sound like you’ve been chewing on glass.”

“Fuck off. And don’t call me Jaime.” Bucky reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time. Kirk just grinned at him like a professional shit eater; baby blues twinkling in the amber light as he tapped blunt fingers against the table impatiently. Since the fucker had called him Jaime Bucky was content to make him wait as he got out a cigarette and lit up.

Hedwig brought back Kirk’s beer and the plate of hot Schnitzel and Bucky happily took the liberty of staring down her blouse, since it was on offer (and one never refused a lady and all).

“I thought you said this was urgent?” Kirk asked after Hedy had left once more and Bucky sneered at him. He gestured toward Kirk’s companion who was sitting at the bar, making no secret of watching them.

“Thought I told you to come alone?” he countered, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth.

“My friend didn’t think that was a good idea, given that the last time I agreed to ship something for you I had the police crawling all over my ship. Something’s not adding up.”

“I’m no spy. Not for them.” Bucky snapped. He was a lot of things, but he’d never be that. Nodding jerkily toward the glaring man at the bar he asked, “What about him. You trust him?”

“With my life.” Kirk replied with immediate conviction and Bucky could only let it go in the face of that kind of certainty. “Now what is it you want Bakhuizen? Another run?”

“Yes.” Bucky nodded, not seeing a point in beating around the bush further. “Same as before. Live cargo.”

Kirk’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

“There’s a shipment headed up to Belgium not long from now, if they’re on it then my girl is docked there getting ready to take a load back to England. How many are we talking?”

“Two and they’re red.”

Kirk’s eyebrows crawled upward. All of the joviality he’d entered the pub with had bled away. He was assessing Bucky now with keen intelligence, and it was enough to remind Bucky that for all of Kirk’s wiles he was still a dangerous man to cross.  Kirk, a healthy decade older than Bucky, had lived through his share of wars by now, but he’d not married it the way some men did (the way Steve had). He’d retired from the navy but hadn’t been able to leave the sea behind. He sailed under an English trading company and knew just about every stretch of water from the North Sea to the Black.

“If you want me to put my crew at risk transporting wanted goods you’ll tell me what the hell this is about Bakhuizen.” Kirk demanded, white teeth flashing in the lamplight as he leaned forward in his chair.

“I’ve already told you. It’s just like last time.” Bucky tried to placate, but Kirk had never been a fool.

“Last time I wasn’t smuggling wanted people. Don’t bullshit me or we’re done here. We clear?”

“Alright. Alright. I’m sorry.” Bucky glanced around, lowering his voice before he continued. “Dr. Leshner, big time geneticist over in Germany before Hitler came to power. Guy‘s a Jew so eventually he’s out a job. But the Nazi’s want something from him. They take him and his entire family into custody and nobody hears a peep out of them for months. But a few weeks ago there’s a jail break. The wife catches a bullet but the kids get out. Leshner’sgot a friend in London who is willing to give them shelter but we’ve got to get them there first and they can’t travel in the open. That enough for you?”

“How much is this friend paying?” Kirk asked after a long moment of consideration and the tension in Bucky’s stomach eased.

“Name your price. He’s good for it.” Bucky immediately answered.

Kirk nodded minutely, a shark toothed grin splitting his lips as he slowly shook his head. “I’ll need to clear it with my first mate, either he’s in the loop or no deal. And I’ll need the money up front. I know better than to get gypped.”

Bucky smiled through his teeth.

“You’re all heart Kirk.” He stubbed out his cigarette on the table as Kirk shrugged.

“What’s the second thing?” he asked and Bucky paused before grumbling.

“Who says there’s a second thing?”

“Because there’s a pretty little thing at the bar looking for a good time and you’re still sitting here putting up with me. What’s the matter Buck, can’t get up for it? Cause if that’s the case I’m always willing to assist.”

Bucky sneered, taking a deep swig of his beer.

“A pillow biter like you Kirk wouldn’t know the first thing about showing a lady a good time.”

Kirk threw back his head and cackled, good humor returning and Bucky smiled into his cup.

“You ever heard of Stark Industries?” he asked slowly, staring into his drink as Kirk’s laughter died. The blond let loose an incredulous snort.

“Who hasn’t? You can’t work a ship that isn’t Stark made. Though it’s just not been the same since the old man died. He had the touch.”

“They were trampled in a riot right?” Bucky asked and Kirk grimaced.

“That’s what they said in the paper but if you want the truth they were executed by a mob.” At Bucky’s look of surprise Kirk explained further. “With the war on there was a lot of unrest.  Austria was calling for more ships, more weapons. the Navy had Stark working his people to the bone. Any idiot could see it was a recipe for disaster.

“There were a lot of Austrian’s living there in those days, but they were mostly Navy from what I remember. We were big and only getting bigger, made up just under half the population. There were Croats and others thrown in there too, but mostly it was the Italian’s, and they didn’t like the Croats any better than they liked us. They weren’t too happy about being stamped Austrian or building warships that were just gonna blow their countrymen out of the water either. That’s the thing about land, you can draw whatever lines you want but unless you win the people, it doesn’t mean shit.”

Bucky nodded, filing away the information as he considered Kirk’s words. That at least might explain a few things about Tony. Despite sharing Austrian and German citizenship on paper the man almost went out of his way to flaunt his Italian heritage. He looked it, but he might have been able to downplay that with a change of dress and attitude. Instead he spoke Italian like a native and was unapologetic about his preference for it. He insisted on that pompous facial hair even though no self-respecting German would be seen with it. He even _ate_ differently.

Bucky could understand pride in one’s heritage, choosing not to hide your difference. He made that choice every day. But there was a huge difference between not hiding and shouting about it and you had to wonder about a guy who needed to shout that loud. Bucky’d been digging around but largely getting nowhere. He’d hoped that with Kirk being a Navy man and spending his youth at the base he might have something of use for him.

“What did you think of the family. The Stark’s I mean. What were they like?” he asked.

Hughard Stark was a hero and any number of people were willing to talk about the company, but few knew anything of value about the man’s life, or about his son’s. Some people had even managed to forget that HughardStark had even had a kid!

Kirk’s eyes narrowed as he considered Bucky, and after a moment he appeared to give it a thought.

“Stark was amazing. The only real word for it. He was a true pioneer. He wasn’t a sailor but he knew his way around a ship like nobody I’ve ever encountered. He knew the guts of it. The first time I ever met him I was serving on the Neptune, one of the brand new dreadnoughts that Stark was pushing out. She was faster than any other ship on the water and her guns, I’d never seen anything that powerful. It even had the Brits pissing themselves. But Stark was still working out the kinks. There’d been a bit of a blow out in the engine room and Stark himself came down, because he was like that with new projects. It was personal with him. He knew every inch of that ship by heart.”

“You ever talk to his wife or his kid?” Bucky pressed again, trying to derail the bend into hero-worship the conversation was taking.

“A woman like Frau Stark wasn’t making social with the PO’s, Bakhuizen.”

“What about Tony?” he asked, slyly and Kirk went noticeably stiff.

“What about him?” Kirk snapped, before he seemed to realize what he’d done. He’d known exactly who Bucky was asking about so he could hardly claim now not to be familiar with Hughard’s son. Bucky smirked at him and Kirk just glared.

“Why are you so curious about Antony?”

“Let’s just say I have an investment I want to take care of. Talk to me.”

“An investment?” Kirk’s eyebrows arched. “The last I heard the kid joined a monastery. I didn’t think he was involved with the business. It’s a shame, because if he had half of what his father had Stark Industries could use it. The Führer  just rolled out his plans for a new fleet and with what he wants they could use him.”

That was exactly what Bucky was afraid of. Someone in the Reich had to remember that Hughard had a kid and that he was easily fond right? Someone must have approached him about the Führers plans and you didn’t need to spend more than a few minutes with Tony to know that he’d inherited his father’s genius. And wasn’t it just a little too damn coincidental that someone like Tony had ended up in Steve’s lap (almost literally so, irritatingly enough)?

“Let me worry about my investments Kirk. Tell me about Stark. How did you meet? What was he like?”

“It was over twenty years ago, he was a kid when I knew him and I wasn’t much older. I don’t know why this matters.” Kirk grumbled but at Bucky’s urging stare he opened his mouth and began, clearly searching for words as he went. “Antony was smart. Crazy smart. His old man didn’t like him hanging around the yard but honestly there was no keeping him away. Would show up to talk your ear off and then have the nerve to correct your work. It used to piss the engineers off. He could make you want to strangle him when he wasn’t charming your pants off.”

Bucky snickered.

“Two of you must have gotten along like butter on toast.”

“Something like that,” Kirk smirked. “I felt sorry for him. He didn’t have a lot of friends. Just a Negro boy that worked for them I think. I know a thing or two about having something to prove, and I figured it was a lot of pressure on a kid living up to a name like Stark, and like I said… his father never seemed to want him around.”

Bucky perked up, sensing that he was finally about to get somewhere.

“And why was that? Tony’s his heir, smart enough to continue the work. So why shut him out?”

“I don’t think it was that. I think he just didn’t want to mix up the work with his family.” Kirk shrugged. “He was the same way about the wife. You’d see their faces, hear their names on people’s tongues, but then you’d start thinking about it and you’d realize you did’t know anything about them. Not really.

“There were rumors about her, the wife that is. She was Italian, but that was about all that anybody knew and that was the odd part, because people in their circle, it’s all about pedigree isn’t it? The big talk was she was aCarboni, which don’t mean shit to you I know.” Kirk grinned draining the rest of his mug and licking his lips, leaving Bucky to wait in tense silence. The blond set the mug down with a thud and leveled with Bucky.

“The Carboni’s are Jews. Old family. They owned the port before Austria took Pola.” Kirk dropped. “But it’s a common enough name in those parts. The Starks got married in the church far as I know, and for that you got to be catholic. And you sure as hell don’t meet many Jewish monks.”

No, Bucky thought, a cold kind of anger creeping into his chest. You certainly didn’t.

 

~*~~*~

 

The morning of their last day in Vienna Tony was up before the others. A rare turn of events what with Stefen’s habit of rising with the dawn, but bad dreams (mostly unremembered) had woken Tony before first light. He’d laid in the dark for a bit, catching his breath, before carefully rising so as not to wake Stefen and the children.

With no piano and no tools on hand he’d settled for taking his journal into the sitting room. He was still sitting there, working on the schematics for mark two of the engine he’d never been able to finish – he’d already thought up ways to improve it – when the sky beyond the windows began to pale.

Movement from the master bedroom pulled at his attention and he glanced up as Stefen slipped from the room, quietly shutting the bedroom door behind himself. He didn’t seem surprised to see Tony curled up on the couch, but then again there were few places he could be this early in the morning.

“Morning Cap,” Tony greeted softly with a wave of his pen.

“You didn’t sleep well.” Stefen returned, like a statement rather than a question, as he made his way toward Tony on the couch. Tony shrugged, aiming for something nonchalant.

“Bad dreams. Probably something I ate.”

Stefen sat beside him, not overly close but close enough that Tony could feel his body radiating heat in the small space left between them. He wondered if that was a Stefen thing or a ‘Tony needs to get a handle on himself’ thing.

Stefen didn’t say anything so Tony went back to his journal, even managing to lose himself back in the project somewhat before the sensation of being watched needled at him. He looked up to find Stefen leaning over his shoulder to watch the pen Tony had gripped in his hand fly across the page, numbers and equations spilling across it with each movement.

When Stefen’s eyes raised to meet his there was something evocative in them that made Tony’s throat go dry.

“Why are you a monk?” Stefen asked, tilting his head slightly as if viewing Tony from another angle would piece it all together for him.

Tony snickered, though in truth the close assessment made his heart quicken.

“What kind of a question is that? Why are you a captain?” He shot back defensively, but Stefen ignored it, pressing on with a patient look.

“Your mind, Tony, I struggle sometimes comprehending just what you could do with it. And clearly this,” he leaned closer and tapped the corner of the page Tony was writing on, “means more to you than anything else. So why join a monastery?”

Tony was tempted to lie, or come up with some half-truth to placate the captain’s curiosity, only... he didn’t want to. Stefen had trusted him with so much already and proven himself to be a better man than Tony could ever hope to be. And more honestly he was greedy.

Because Stefen was looking at him again, like he really cared about the answer (like knowing Tony was something worth doing) and he’d already come to terms with how weak he was when it came to that look.

He licked lips gone dry and mustered up some semblance of a smile. He hoped it looked more convincing than it felt.

“My father arranged it. I think he hoped it would straighten me out.”

“Did you need straightening?” Stefen asked, something sympathetic in his eyes, and Tony couldn’t help but laugh, because Stefen’s sympathies were all misplaced.

“Absolutely. If you think I’m eccentric now, at seventeen with something to prove I was downright heathen. If it had a chance of angering my Father I probably did it. Twice. He’d about given up hope that I would ever amount to anything, not that he’d ever had much to begin with. Trust me, I deserved it.”

Tony finished with a shrug, as if the admission didn’t hurt, as if there was no old wound in danger of seeping with every poke and prod. He bit his lip, fingers clenching around the pen, wondering why he’d even brought it up in the first place. What possessed him to tell Stefen something like that?

“Anyhow,” he rushed on before Stefen could figure out what to say (Good. Good, good, good). “The war broke out and when Rhodey, the only friend I had, enlisted I got the crazy idea in my head that I was going to enlist too, win back Pola for the Italians and make my mother smile. Which is funny, because it would have broken her heart. What mother wants her child ground through the gears of war because he has some stupid point to prove to his father?

“I just… I saw how it was for the workers at the yard, for my grandparents and people like Rhodey. It was so different in Italy, and I guess I thought that if Pola became part of Italy again things would be better. Naïve right? If not for Hughard I’d be just another dead stupid boy, so I can’t be too angry I guess.”

Tony bit his tongue and forced the words to stop. He couldn’t look at Stefen (not after that) so he focused on his work instead, only he couldn’t really see any of the numbers anymore and there was a sharp pain in his mouth (like maybe he’d bit down too hard) but he could barely feel that either, over the more demanding pains in his chest.

What must Stefen think after hearing something like that, hearing that Tony had been the worst sort of youth before he’d been locked up behind the abbey walls and that he’d wanted to fight against his own countrymen? No doubt the worst.  How could he not, when he’d given so much for Austria, fought so long and so hard.

For what? The cynical part of his brain that he just could not quiet asked. Because here they were.

It struck him again, how different things might have been if Hughard had not intervened. He and Stefen might have met on a battlefield, across the barrels of guns. They might have killed one another or they might simply have passed like ships in the night, never to wonder what might be behind the eyes of the enemy they’d left fallen in the wake of their ambitions. 

“Not stupid.” Tony blinked in surprise at the sound of Stefen’s voice and catching his breath at the earnest expression that met him. Stefen leaned closer, jaw working stubbornly as his hand reached to cover Tony’s, and it was only then that he realized he was pressing the pen so ardently to the paper he was in danger of breaking it.

“It’s not stupid to want better.” Stefen reiterated more gently, hand sliding to lightly grip Tony’s wrist and hold it. The touch was grounding in a way that should have been frightening but Tony was too astounded to be frightened.

He’d heard the words but his brain was having trouble processing them, because he kept hearing Stefen say he hadn’t been wrong to want what he’d wanted, and that just didn’t compute. Tony couldn’t think of a single person who hadn’t at least been shocked by his lack of patriotism before this moment.

When Tony stayed quiet Stefen searched his eyes, but for once Tony had nothing to say. His only defense was the stillness of a mouse as the cat’s stare searched the shadows. It was new and uncomfortable and he could say without doubt that he did not particularly enjoy feeling mouse like. He tensed to pull away when Stefen spoke again.

“That’s the entire reason I joined the army.” he said slowly, as if sensing Tony’s desire to flee. “And they don’t tell you, but you learn pretty quickly, that the guy at the other end of the barrel isn’t any different from you. He’s got a family somewhere, a home he thinks he’s protecting somehow. You try not to think about it, or it’ll drive you crazy, make you slow, and you can’t be slow or you’re never going to make it home… but you see it on their faces, when they’re bleeding out under your feet and you’re grateful you pulled the trigger first.”

Stefen fell silent and Tony could see his gaze had gone somewhere distant, and Tony suspected it was back to cold mountain tops. And he knew suddenly, that he didn’t want Stefen to go there anymore, but if there was no preventing it (and Tony sadly thought there wasn’t) he didn’t want him to go it alone.

The skin beneath his palm where Stefen still held Tony’s wrist seemed to burn as Tony reached with his free hand to cradle Stefen’s forearm in a silent summons. Slowly, clouded blue eyes refocused on him, darkening as the seconds passed with unmistakable desire.

Tony didn’t run from it like he had before. Without breaking stare, he let his fingers trail softly over Stefen’s skin, let the fine hair dusting his arm tickle the pads of his fingers. He watched as Stefen’s eyes lowered to watch their progress, drawing Tony’s attention to the impossible length of honeyed lashes – and Tony gulped, heat pooling low in his belly.

Stefen took a shallow breath and when his eyes met Tony’s again they were hot, the hand around Tony’s wrist tightened, driving the air out of Tony’s chest with anticipation.

The door in the front hall rattled and both men froze. Tony’s heart hammered in his chest, ears straining for sound, his eyes watching Stefen as he did the same.

The door rattled again followed swiftly by the sound of it opening and the captain released him. Tony was thankful for the journal in his lap by the time that Bakhuizen appeared out of the entrance hall in last night’s clothing, the picture of a man who’d spent the night getting up to no good and not any better for it.

There was an aurora of darkness about him and a moodiness in the way that he slowly appraised them both that seemed to suck the heat from the room.  Wordlessly he tossed his coat over the back of an empty armchair and stood there, like a jail warden assessing a particularly rowdy group of inmates. He hadn’t so much as looked at Tony, but with the lazer eyed stare that he was giving the captain Tony didn’t need it in writing.

“I think I’ll wash.” He mumbled, beating a hasty retreat. He could feel cold eyes glaring into his back with every step and fearfully he wondered if Bakhuizen had seen them. No, he assured himself as he shut the door of the bedroom with a decisive click. They’d not done more than share looks and they’d separated before Bakhuizen had entered the room. Something else must be bothering him. It didn’t make him feel much better because Tony couldn’t shake the odd feeling that it had to be something to do with him.

 

                                                                                                                      ~*~~*~            

 

 “What the hell are you doing Stevie?” Bucky asked as soon as they heard the faint sound of running water coming from the bedroom.

“Sitting in my sitting room.” Stefen replied, ignoring the dangerous way that Bucky was looking at him. “Where were you last night?”

“Getting laid.” Bucky snapped, bracing himself on the back of the armchair. “You know dumb doesn’t suit you Steve and whatever you think, I wasn’t born yesterday.”

Cold fear began to creep through Steve’s chest as the words sank in, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He tried to deflect, though he didn’t think it would do much good.

“I don’t understand, why -”

“Don’t fucking do that.” Bucky hissed, thankfully keeping his voice low but Stefen could tell he was in danger of losing all control of his temper as he gripped the back of the chair. “You know what I’m talking about. All the damn flirting and the looks. Sleeping in the same damn bed, which arlight the kid was sick, but he was fine by morning and it didn’t stop you from playing house.”

Bucky’s tirade came to a sudden halt, as if he’d abruptly run out of steam, and he took several deep breaths, visibly fighting for calm before cursing under his breath. When he looked back at Steve his gaze was plaintive.

“How long have you been fucking Stark?”

“That isn’t funny. “ Stefen warned darkly, rising from his seat. His heart was slamming in his chest though every inch of him was battle ready. “You’re drunk.”

Bucky barked a humorless laugh.

“I could be drunker believe me. But you know the funniest thing about it is? It’s not that you’re a poof, it’s that you think I care.”

“Don’t you?” Stefen bit out through clenched teeth. He knew very well what Bucky must think. It was unclean. If they weren’t already exiles Steve would have been kicked out of the family.

“Honestly? I don’t know what to think. It’s unclean isn’t it? Can’t say I like thinking about it.” Bucky grunted and Steve flinched.

“But so what.” He growled a moment later. “We’re already unclean.”

Stefen blinked at him, shock making him stupid, and Bucky glowered as if Steve’s blank look had offended him. He stalked toward Steve until they were standing toe to toe.

“Stevie I’ve known you my whole life. I knew, almost before you did. You and I, we’re familia. Did you really think that after everything we’ve been through, that who you fucked was gonna change anything? Jesus, Stevie I literally caught uncle Tobas fucking a goat once. This is practically clean in comparison.”

A startled laugh scraped from his throat and Bucky’s lips tilted in a sad grin.  Steve’s legs felt weak, like he might fall down. All this time and Bucky had known. Hadn’t cared. All this time.

“Stefen we’re together to the end of the line. All I want in the interim is for you to finally be right again. I want you to stop walking around like the best of you died with Peg and to stop throwing away your chances with your children. And Stark… Stark brings out the best in you. And the worst.” Bucky admitted quietly, hands clenching and mouth twisting like the words had been yanked out of him.

“I wish it was different Stefen I really do. If it were, I’d have let you go on thinking I was dumb as a rock. I’d have never said a word about you making eyes at your monk and let you fuck him and anyone else if that’s what brought you back to us. But there’s too much at stake. You’ve got to marry Charlotte and you’re going to mess that up if you aren’t careful.”

Steve breathed out slowly, his body still thrumming with adrenaline, the aftertaste of fear metallic in his mouth as he came to grips with Bucky’s mixed messages of absolutions and warnings, and processing through his own mixed bag of emotions.

If Bucky had not walked in when he had, Steve had no doubt he would have kissed Tony. A mistake brought on no doubt by the intimacy they’d shared and easily avoided in the future when he wasn’t so caught off guard.

He thought about kissing Tony enough and had never slipped like that before. He knew what he wanted and accepted that he couldn’t have it… but there was an insistent, deeply selfish, part of him that balked at the idea of giving up their budding friendship even at the risk of upsetting his plans.

He’d not felt this way about anything in so long, and for every reason that it wasn’t to be he also wanted to enjoy what he could have for as long as he could have it.

“I know what I have to do Bucky,” he assured his friend, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. He was grateful for Bucky, even if his honesty sometimes came with its own kind of pain, he’d always rather hear the truth from him than not.

Bucky didn’t look appeased. Pursing his lips in a resigned manner he sighed.  As Stefen pushed past him to head for the door he heard Bucky shift behind him and entreat his back, “Be careful Stefen. He might be more dangerous than you realize.”

 

 

~*~~*~

_There's a sad sort of clanging_

_From the clock in the hall_

_And the bells in the steeple, too_

_And up in the nursery_

_An absurd little bird_

_Is popping out to say coo-coo_

_(Coo-coo, coo-coo)_

_*_

In some ways Tony thought it was fitting that a farewell ball in honor of a prince was fitting for their last night in Vienna. Their stay there still felt too much like a fairytale for Tony to really believe.

As much as he didn’t want it to end and he wasn’t looking forward to a night rattling around their rooms all by himself, it wasn’t like he was keen on going to a ball hosted by Nazis either.

Bakhuizen was going because he was providing a band and a singer but there was no reason for Tony to expect to be attending, so early that evening after baths had been had and freshly ironed clothing was donned, when Maria asked him if he’d be going he had no reason to expect that the answer should be anything but “not this time patatina, but I’ll be waiting up to hear all about it.”

But when Stefen walked in the door, already in dress uniform from his meetings earlier in the day, he had a nervous look about him.

“Evening Cap,” Tony greeted, poking his head out the bedroom door as Stefen walked into the sitting room. “They’re almost ready for you. We’re doing hair, which isn’t as easy as it looks when you’ve only the one comb between each of the sexes.”

“That’s great Tony,” Steve said, sounding distracted. He stepped toward Tony and then seemed to think better of it. Stopping in the middle of the room he beckoned with one hand. “Would you come here for a moment?”

Though that was about as ominous as a thunder cloud Tony had little choice but to comply.  He wondered franticly for a moment as he walked toward Stefen if this wasn’t going to be the moment that the other shoe dropped, because really you couldn’t come on to your (very) male employer the way that Tony had and not get your ass kicked (right?). Maybe he really had only imagined that Stefen was attracted to him. Maybe he hadn’t been about to pull Tony into a kiss at all when Bakhuizen had interrupted them. Maybe he was about to find himself fired and kicked out in the cold, or worse reported to the authorities. Okay, that last was unlikely what with all signs pointing to Stefen being a secret anarchist but that didn’t mean he’d tolerate a homosexual in his household. Even if that accusation would only be half true the point still stood.

“What can I do for you Cap?” Thankfully Tony’s voice betrayed none of his anxiety. Instead Stefen looked like he was the one standing on egg shells.

“Stark I’d like- that is…” Stefen opened and closed his mouth again, swallowing visibly before he seemed to pluck up his courage. “Tony, I’d like it if you came with us tonight.”

Tony stood there, numb with shock as the words slowly repeated in his head still not making any sense. The Captain could not have asked him to attend the officer’s ball.

“What?” he finally managed to get out, brow furrowing deeply. “Surely the children know to behave…”

“Not to watch the children, Tony, but as a friend.” Stefen interjected earnestly. “As my friend.”

And never had so simple a word struck so deeply, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as all his thought zeroed in on that one single concept. He was the captain’s friend. Stefen was inviting him to a ball because he valued Tony’s friendship.

“But I wasn’t invited captain. Won’t your hosts object?” Tony’s sluggish brain tried to remember all of the perfectly pressing reasons for Tony to decline what was a thoughtful but still ludicrous invitation.

“You’ll be my guest Tony, no one will mind.” Stefen countered with a hopeful smile.

“Thank you, Captain, for the thought, truly, but I… I’m afraid I have nothing to wear.” Tony cringed at the words. He had nothing to _wear_? What was he, a socialite? How about the fact that going with Stefen meant socializing with Nazi officers? That was all the reason in the world not to do this. He could just imagine what Farkas would say if he heard about it. He’d probably combust. He was supposed to be laying low.

Tony opened his mouth to politely refuse, but something about Stefen’s soft smile made the breath catch in his chest. He looked so boyishly proud that he could have been Artur just then as he slowly extended the package Tony had all but forgotten was under his arm.

“I realized that actually. That suit you have is…”

“Hideous?” Tony muttered and Stefen’s smiled widened.

“Christ, is it ever.”

Tony felt his mouth tugging into a smile despite the uncomfortable mix of shock and anxiety still coursing through his veins.

“It won’t be an exact fit, but Susann has a good eye for these things.” Stefen explained, gently pushing the box into Tony’s hands and Tony’s ever so helpful brain noted that it was just the right weight and size to fit a properly folded suit. He was still staring at the box dumbfounded, as if he had no idea how it had gotten into his hands, when Stefen said, “You may have to press out a few wrinkles from the journey home but Susann’s work is impeccable. It should suffice.”

Stefen had bought him a suit? Tony was still struggling to grasp the reality of it when Stefen called his name gently.

“Tony.”  Tony blinked up at him and immediately got lost in the blue of Stefen’s eyes, because he’d stepped closer and was looking at him again as if Tony was the last real thing in the world. “I want you to come. Say you will.”

“Yes.” Tony heard himself say, the breath shuddering out of his chest as if he’d been squeezed and Stefen smiled in relief. Beautiful, Tony thought. The man was going to be the death of him.

~*~*~*~

_coo-coo Regretfully they tell us_

_coo-coo But firmly they compel us_

_to say good bye_

_coo-coo_

_To you_

_*_

Charlotte had been allowing Captain Rogers to court her for just under a year and a half. It was a considerable amount of time, too lengthy to be fashionable in some circles of thought. After all, no woman liked to think of herself as an afterthought or a ‘last resort’ but Charlotte never let such things bother her.

Her arrangement with Stefen was primarily one of convenience. They were of a similar age, a certain familiarity, and most importantly of like goals. She was a woman of progress and strong convictions who wanted to do more with her life than churn babies into the world, and he was a man of action whose moral compass pointed true north. He was not easily manipulated, brow beaten or puzzled out, which in itself could keep a woman on her toes.

Still, Charlotte might not have been so decided on the captain as the ideal husband if not for one thing.

She’d been in love with him since she was a girl of sixteen. Her mother had called it ‘infatuated’ and she’d not approved and not really because he was her cousins husband. Cousin Peggy had always been wonderfully scandalous (mama had not approved of her either) and Charlotte had envied her when she’d gone off to the front to serve as a nurse, thinking sadly that she would never be allowed to have such adventures herself. Not long after the war had ended Peggy had come home, more worldly and sophisticated in Charlotte’s eyes than ever, and not long after that she’d come to a family soirée with the famed Captain Rogers in tow.

He’d looked every inch the hero to Charlotte that day, tall and broad shouldered, blond haired and blue eyed, and so handsome she’d suddenly felt every inch the awkward schoolgirl. But it hadn’t been either the tales of his heroism or his looks that had captured her heart and kept it through the years.

She remembered how out of place he’d looked and sounded (he’d had the worst accent back then) surrounded by the proud display of wealth and prosperity that was one of the Von Trap family functions. Peggy had flitted off somewhere for a moment and Charlotte had watched him stand in the middle of the room like a ship lost at sea, aimless and alone as the whispers and judgmental glances of her family swelled around him. And then Peggy had returned and it was like the sun had cut through the clouds, and Charlotte had known that one day she wanted someone to look at her just that way. She could settle for nothing less.

She’d never have wished her cousin ill, but fate had seen fit to set him on her path and Charlotte did not believe in squandering opportunities just because they were hard won. She could not expect him to be the same man he’d been all those years ago, or to have completely healed after the loss of her wife. She was content to wait, confident always that in his own time he would come to love her as ardently as he’d once loved dear Margrit. How could he not? Must not love when freely given, be met with it’s own kind?

She knew the answer was not always. She wasn’t a fool. But when one was in love, what was there to do but hope?

 In over a year and a half nothing Stefen had said or done (or not said and done for that matter) had shaken that confidence. Antony Stark however, was another matter entirely.

When Captain Rogers had picked her up that night she’d been expecting Péter and Natacha to be tagging along since she’d been the one to suggest bringing them in the first place. But it had become clear at the first sight of the (very) full car that met her at her door that he’d misunderstood her to mean that he should bring all _seven_ of them. She hardly knew what they would do with themselves most the evening and did not fancy playing nursemaid when the younger ones undoubtedly got tired and cranky, and did not relish ending their evening together early to cater to children’s bedtimes.

She was almost thankful at first that he’d thought to bring Herr Stark along (because she could see no other reason for the man’s presence) but as the evening progressed it quickly became clear that Stark was not there as the captain’s employee but as a friend.

He introduced him as such as they made their rounds and perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised Charlotte as much as it did, but Stark seemed well versed in social niceties. That was something of a relief, and the evening might still have been salvaged if he’d used any of that considerable charm of his on any one of the numerous ladies vying for his attention.

Monk or not, the man cut a dashing figure in his jacket and tails, plus one mention of the name Stark and the ladies of this particular circle got a whiff of money which in their eyes made any man interesting. But Stark and the children did not leave the captain’s side for so much as a moment despite every hint or opportunity thrown his way and the captain did not seem to mind this. If anything the closeness seemed to help him relax, the two men sharing quips and quick banter in so familiar a fashion it was hard not to feel something of a third wheel.

The captain was not always the most attentive of beaus, but lately he’d shown a certain earnestness towards her that Charlotte had come to enjoy. It’s noticeable absence that evening was irksome.

When the beautiful woman who had been singing on stage moments before made her way through the crowd in an obvious beeline for Stefen, Charlotte slipped her arm in his and stepped closer, unsure why she felt as upset as she did.

Perhaps it was because he had yet to ask her for a dance (at any function) and yet, not long ago he had asked Janneke Van Dyne.

“Captain Rogers. How good to see you again.” Frauline Van Dyne greeted him fondly, presenting her hand and Stefen kissed it clinically but there was a certain fondness in his expression as he greeted her and turned to introduce his party.

“Have you met my children?” he rattled through their names one by one and then to Charlotte’s shock, instead of turning to her as was the only proper thing to do (she could understand falling second to his children after all) he turned to Herr Stark and said, “And this is Herr Stark. A good friend. Oh and of course, the lovely woman on my arm is Baroness Shrader.”

Charlotte nodded to the other woman with a serenely fixed smile on her face. “You sang quite a lovely set Frauline, I can see why James patrons you.”

“Tony taught us to sing that song,” one of the little girls piped up, obviously forgetting the golden rule when attending adult parties that children should do their very best to be seen and not heard. Frauline Van Dyne smiled sweetly at her however and her eyes flickered to Herr Stark who was standing beside the captain. She did not seem at all shocked to hear this child address an adult by his first name but perhaps she was just good at hiding it.

“Goodness, Herr Stark, is there anything you can’t do?” Charlotte quipped with a winsome smile in the man’s direction and he twitched, clearly startled to be addressed by her. His conversation with the captain had been rather exclusive.

“And do you like to sing Maria?” Frauline Van Dyne asked and the girl nodded eagerly.  She opened her mouth to say something but fell silent as a shadow fell over her.

“Captain. So wonderful to see you.” General Schmidt stood just behind the girl, his arms crossed behind his back and posture ramrod straight as he smiled down at the child in a somewhat cold fashion. He seemed to suck the warmth out of the room just by standing there. “Ah and you brought your children. And what a fine recovery they have made. Perhaps our many prayers for them have been answered?”

Stefen had gone rigid against her, every inch of his body radiating tension next to hers. It was enough to still whatever pleasantries Charlotte might have offered to the conversation. She watched warily as the two men continued their interaction, keen to jump in if necessary.

“They’ve shown great improvement.” Stefen answered tonelessly and Schmidt’s face spread into a humorless smile.

“No doubt we have divine influence to thank for such a miracle. Did I hear correctly that you are teaching the children to sing?” he asked, eyes flicking to Herr Stark who tensed under the man’s scrutiny. “Herr Stark was it. No relation of course to the late Hughard Stark?”

“I’m afraid so.” Stark answered and Charlotte had never heard the man so reluctant to speak. “My father.”

Schmidt’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in calculation as he considered Stark for a long moment. “Yes. I had heard his only child had entered a monastery. And now you teach children? Surely there was a place for you in your father’s business?”

“Engineering is somewhat outside our purview I’m afraid but education is a worthy service for any monk, Herr General.” Stark answered tightly, and then he turned to the captain and said, “Captain, it’s getting late. Perhaps we should see about getting the children home?”

She could see that Stefen was about to leap on the chance to excuse themselves, the relief and profound gratitude that flashed through his eyes, and she could not say why she did what she did, only that the look had pierced through her belly like a sharp needle and she was speaking before she knew it.

“Oh but you must show us what you’ve been teaching the children Herr Stark. I just know the prince and the General’s other guests will be enchanted with them.”

“No.” Stefen immediately snapped, jaw tight. “My children do not perform in public.”

“And why not Captain?” Schmidt asked with a disapproving tsk of his tongue. “Surely you do not object for their health? After so long being ill surely you are eager to celebrate their good fortunes, just as I am sure they are eager to return and serve the public.”

Schmidt had a cruel smile Charlotte decided and she regretted pitting him and the captain against each other. It had not been her intent.

“Father, may we?” Natacha stepped up to her father’s side with a respectful dip for the General. “It would be such an honor.”

“They will perform Captain.” Schmidt commanded and Charlotte winced. “It would be a crime to rob us of their voices.”

Stefen worked his jaw, hand’s clenched tightly and she thought for a panicked moment that he was going to deny the general or wildly enough, hit him. But then Charlotte saw Stark lean close out of the corner of her eye and gently touch his elbow as he murmured something lowly into his ear. And perhaps only because she was looking for it, she saw the way some of the tension in his body eased from him and the desperate way he held the monk’s gaze before he slowly nodded.

“Well then.” Tony announced brightly looking to the children who were waiting with baited breath. “It looks then as if our moment has come.”

Maria gasped and clapped her hands together with excitement.

“Come, I’ll show you where the musicians and I are getting ready.” Frauline Van Dyne gestured, smiling broadly, and Herr Stark and the children eagerly followed her.

She hoped for their sake as well as the captain’s that they really were as accomplished as Herr Stark often said.

 

~*~*~~*

 

“You’re what?!” Bucky gaped at the man. “Does Stefen know?”

Janneke laughed and Stark - still helping the girls with the impromptu choreography (that seemed in Bucky’s eye to be a series of shuffling steps, waving motions and switching positions) rolled his eyes at him.

“Of course he does. The General left him little choice but to agree to it.” Stark replied and Bucky’s stomach went cold. That was it then. They’d known it would be, but it was really sinking in now. No more keeping the kids out of it. But that was Schmidt’s whole point wasn’t it. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about actually hearing them sing.

“Don’t worry Bakhuizen. I promised the captain I won’t let them get hurt.” To the children he offered a smile, shining with confidence. “And there’s no fear of that because we’re just going to sing good night. You won’t trip James, and if you do just smile and keep going. Peter you’ll remember your part because it’s basically just saying goodbye over and over - and you can say it in at least three languages now so just pick one. You’re all going to be just brilliant. Okay? He’s going to be very proud of you. Just as I am.”

They soaked it up the kids. Bucky could tell that they were nervous, but they were excited too – so damn eager to get out on stage and strut their stuff and it was Tony who had given them that confidence.  It was Tony who had given them music and somewhere out in that crowd their father was watching them, probably ready to crawl out of his skin but the fact that they were here at all without Steve pulling something drastic… that was because Stefen trusted Tony.

“Alright tell me what you need.” Bucky commanded, waving for the bands attention. “And quit with the Bakhuizen shit. It’s Bucky, or James if you have to.”

Janneke cleared her throat poignantly and Bucky’s eyes flickered to the gleeful faces on the children and he sighed.

“And don’t say shit children.”

_I'm glad to go_

_I cannot tell a lie_

_I flit, I float_

_I fleetly flee, I fly_

_*_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter and want to take this moment to thank all of you. We couldn't have asked to be having a better time with this or be 'meeting' so many great people.
> 
> As of the beginning of this week FIOT is at bootcamp training to be a United States marine, which I honestly couldn't be more proud (and scared of). We wanted to bring you this extra long chapter to tide you over the three months she'll be off the grid, and the time it will take us to regroup and put together chapter 10 which could unfortunately mean something like a four month break for the fic. 
> 
> We're both supremely dedicated to finishing the fic (FIOT is actually going to be writing at bootcamp the crazy) and appreciate you sticking with us. 
> 
> I'll be sending her Dear John letters (roommate style) while she's away, including your comments (because she says they are her life blood). No pressure but if you feel like wishing her well, I'm sure it would cheer her up after what are no doubt going to be some pretty long days.
> 
> In the interim, we've discussed the possibility of posting some asides from Tony and Steve's childhoods to keep the universe alive (and okay I'll admit it, the thought of not writing this fic for months depresses me) and combat the sound of crickets. We have more than enough world building for it so please let me know if that's something that would interest you and if there's anything in particular your interested in seeing/knowing. Until then friends, so long and farewell.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Austria hurtles towards war the Rogers family faces new challenges. While the children struggle to navigate public life Steve and Tony navigate their deepening relationship. Can Tony really trust that his new family won't betray him and can Steve keep his activities a secret and keep General Schmidt from destroying his family at the same time?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaaack. 
> 
> Without further ado we bring you the 10th installment. Please forgive any errors we didn't catch, we've been working for a month to get this out to you :P Enjoy.

 

_Vienna, Austria. August 1938_

Early morning

It was quiet on the riverbank but not still as a lone woman hurried down the narrow streets under the amber lamplight. Though it was still summer, a cold wind was coming down from the mountains. The woman was bundled tightly in a light jacket, a scarf tied over her head for warmth and not coincidently, it obscured any identifying features from view of the man who was watching her progress from his second-floor window.

The man, a shopkeeper named Ludy, like so many others had come to Vienna as a young man to find work, and had been clever enough to prove quick with his hands and an even quicker study at repairing damaged fishnet.

When it had become clear that folks preferred his work over just about anybody’s and his boss wasn’t keen on paying him accordingly, he’d used everything he had to open up his own shop not two doors down. The shopkeeper had been rivals with his former employer for years, up until recently when the old man had been forced to close shop and move his entire family to the ghetto they’d set up for the Jews.

Good riddance to the greedy old bastard, Ludy thought.

He had a penchant for cigar smoking that his wife couldn’t stomach but had suffered bouts of insomnia ever since he’d been young. Smoking calmed Ludy, so he was in the habit of cracking open the bedroom window when it was warm enough not to bother the wife and leaning out to have his smoke.

Over the years he’d witnessed any number of early morning comings and goings on the dock. Usually it was just drunk sailors stumbling from the pubs to find their beds, but occasionally it was something less savory.

There was something unsavory indeed about a woman walking alone in the dark. She wasn’t dressed like a woman out to catch a John and the furtive glances she kept casting over her shoulder made it clear she was anxious not to be seen. Perhaps not a whore but an unfaithful wife, he mused to himself watching her, mouth curling in distaste. Off to meet her lover in the dark no doubt.

He’d just decided to turn away and return to his bed when the woman turn down a dock not far from his window, heading toward the dark silhouette of an anchored ship. He perked to attention.

The merchant ship was just one of dozens that passed through the river port on their way to the sea hauling their cargo from one port to another, but Ludy knew it well.

The rebels who resisted the rule of the Reich were moving around somehow and though security had tightened there were too many foreign ships that came in and out of port to spend time searching them all.

The ship anchored at the end of the dock was a British vessel, which was in and of itself reason or wariness as the tensions between Germany and Britain only escalated and the British government made their censure of the Reich felt. With spies everywhere and rebel traitors aiding them, one had to watch the enemy closely.

The shopkeeper had never been an army man, but he imagined he would have made a good one if his limp hadn’t gotten in the way; but he did his part in other ways. He’d been watching this ship whenever it was in port ever since he’d overheard a strange interaction between its Captain and one of the crewmen, going on seven months back.

Their language had been coded but rife with tension as they argued in heated whispers about the risks of some unnamed venture. Even though he’d not been able to discern exactly what they were up to it had been the way they stood that had made Ludy certain they were a bad sort, up to no good.

He’d informed the authorities who’d arrived not an hour later to detain the ship and its crew. Even though nothing had come of it then, Ludy still watched. He knew that ship was trouble.

He was watching as the lone woman hurried down the dock, passing quickly under the lamps as she walked, doing her best to keep to the shadows. Most of the crew except for a skeleton shift would have taken advantage of the brief shore leave granted to them from being in port, seeking warm meals and warmer beds.

No one on board had turned on any lights and yet there were shapes moving about on the deck. His eyes narrowed as a gangplank lowered from the ship and he watched speculatively as several bodies (hard to tell just how many in the darkness) came to meet the woman as she reached the end of the dock.

A brief conversation was held before one figure separated from the others and hurried back aboard the ship, leaving the woman with the two others (yes it was two now, he could see them better now that they were coming back toward the lamps). And it was two children he noted as they passed by his window. A gangly boy in a cap and a skinny girl with unwashed brown hair in tangles.

The shopkeeper held himself still, just out of sight behind his open window as he watched the woman hurry back the way she’d come, guiding the children and whispering to them as they scurried.

His lip curling, the shopkeeper reached for the phone beside the bed.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Much had changed in the Rogers household since they’d returned from Vienna. Stefen’s fears that the children would be drawn into attendance in the Nazi Youth had proved correct, almost before they’d walked in the door and it mattered little how against it he and the Captain were. The Reich grew stronger, the call to arms blared on and war marched ever and ever closer. Sometimes Vienna felt like a beautiful dream to Tony. In many ways it was. A beautiful dream of happiness and togetherness that he’d never expected to taste in his lifetime. A hopeless dream that had carved itself a space in his body that would forever ache with emptiness.

He must face reality sooner or later. He could not stay in Austria, and he could not entertain the thought of staying with the Rogers family indefinitely. To do so was a madness bordering on the suicidal. What place had he there after all? The Nazi threat notwithstanding, the bitter truth was that Tony’s place in the household was contingent on the children. Children grow, and when they were grown what then? What reason would the captain have to keep him around, and how absurd was it to even hope that Stefen would concern himself with finding one.

Why? Because there was passion between them? Tony would be a fool to stake his life on a stolen moment and a heated stare. A man could feel any number of desires. That did not make him safe or trustworthy, or the sort of person to stake one’s entire life on. Tony had this fantasy, that Stefen, just as fearful of the Nazi regime as he, would pull Tony into his office one day and announce his plans to flee the country. The family would seek asylum in Switzerland and let Germany eat itself alive, and Tony would go with them because were else would Tony go but with his family.

And that was where the line between reality and fantasies was so starkly drawn.

He must remember (he must) that Tony was not their family. He had no family. He was on his own in very dangerous waters, and these were the very people who had everything to gain by disassociating with him. He’d been alone since he was seventeen-years-old, chased into a monastery by events outside of his control. Alone since the murders of his parents and Jacob Yinsen. He must take action and save himself. Nothing had changed.

Except, Tony was desperately tired of being alone in the world. He wanted… well he wanted a great many things, including what lay behind him at the home of Captain Rogers. He knew the difference between dreams and reality, but Vienna had also served to light this unbankable flame of hope inside him that somehow someway he could hold onto Stefen and the children. But first thing first, he had to take his own advice and stop running from the past.

Tony needed to know if his grandparents were still alive, and if not what had happened to them. The events that had thrust Tony into the monastery had allowed him no chance to say goodbye and all of his letters to them had been returned unopened. He’d asked Obadiah to look into it for him, worrying that Nanno and Uncle Isiah had been hurt in the riot that had killed his parents. Stanislov’s response that neither men had reported to the Yard since the end of the riots and their house had been put up for sale had sent his seventeen-year-old self into a tailspin of depression.

He was determined to find real answers now, and no longer willing to believe that Stanislov had been completely forthcoming with him regarding their fate. It was more than time that Tony take his life back into his own hands. Farkas had admitted that Tony’s father had put things away for his future, and Tony wanted to know the full details (because he wasn’t about to leave his fate in the one eyed Abbots hands either).

He’d hired a solicitor named Martin Pavlok to look into his affairs without gaining either Stanislov or Farkas to who was behind the inquires, and in addition the man was helping him to track down his mother’s family.

Tony slowed the car into the driveway and glanced behind him again just to make sure he wasn't being followed. He hadn't counted on how exposed he’d feel at the Library of Records in Salzburg.

It was ridiculous to think that anyone would know he was looking up his decidedly Jewish relatives just by looking at him, but Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that anyone who looked at him would know. It was a public library after all. If anyone cared to get noisy there was nothing to stop them from knowing his business, there. That could come back to haunt him.

‘Why, Mr. Stark was looking through our records for information on an Isiah Carboni’ they would say, and from there it was only a short trail to the truth of his birth that not even Hughard’s money could completely wash away. It was a risk he’d had to take, but it still left him feeling jumpy. It had been over twenty years since he’d left Pola and he needed something more to give the solicitor than one old address.

It had been easier than Tony expected to find information on Nonno. It helped that he’d been a successful business man for many years before Tony’s father had bought out the shipyard. The last known address Tony could find for him was on a business license for a carpenter’s shop in the city issued fifteen years ago. It made Tony feel sick looking at that address, knowing for certain now that his grandparents had been in Pola all this time, a stones throw away from Tony’s childhood home.

Had Stansilov even looked for them? The answer was staring him in the face. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? Why would he devote time and energy to finding Tony’s grandparents when they were nothing but a stain on the company image, when Stansilov had gotten everything he’d ever wanted with Hughard’s death and Tony out of the way?

Tony had given the information to the solicitor who’d been able to confirm within days that the shop was still in operation. He’d given Tony the number to his grandfather’s home that very afternoon.

Tony had gone from Pavlok’s office directly to the telephone booth across the street; but had made the decision to make the call from the house instead at the last moment.

He swallowed letting his head thunk back against the car’s steering wheel. He squeezed his eyes shut, reciting a prayer he’d learned in his youth. Prayer came to him in moments like this, ageless and familiar like equations and scientific law, comforting in the way of a lifelong companion.   

Angel of God, my Guardian.

(Please let them be safe. Let them be well.)

 To whom God's love commits me here.

 Ever this day be at my side.

(Please. They’re all I have left.)

 To light and guard and rule and guide.

            Amen.

He crossed himself almost by route, thinking that Bruce would be so proud if only he could see Tony now, swallowing the bitter pill of humility and beseeching heaven with all the other desperate human souls. Taking a deep breath Tony tucked the files Pavlok had given him under his arm and darted from the car.

 

 

~*~

 

“Right away, sir” the operator said over the line. Tony waited, so anxious he wasn’t sure he was still breathing. He closed his eyes again, concentrating on pulling in a breath through the tightness in his chest. He staunchly ignored the strange hitching in his breath.

“Buonasera” an ageing voice greeted and Tony missed the rest of his Nonna’s greeting (because it was her, he knew it in an instant) his inhale too loud even for his own ears.

“Ciao?” she called into the silence when Tony still had not found the power of speech and he jumped like an engine kicking into life.

“Nonna.”

He was a child again looking up past the long blue skirt to the kind oval face of his mother's mother, smiling down at him.

“Nonna, it's me Antony.”

He could smell fresh bread and basil.

There was a pause, so long Tony worried she’d abandoned the crazy man on the other end of the line, or that the operator might have severed the connection when he heard a sobbing gasp. She was crying.

“Bambino. Antony. My Antony? Mio bambino.”

Tony gripped the phone tightly, staving off the swell of emotion burning in his chest, trying to lodge itself in his throat.

“Bambino speak to me. Are you well?

“I’m well.” Tony managed to rasp out. “I’m well. Are you? Are you well Nonna?”

 He'd not yet opened his eyes, not trusting himself.

“Yes, yes. All these years Antony, all these years I have prayed and today God has answered my prayers.” She cried into his ear and Tony felt moisture slide down his cheeks. “That man, that wicked man told us you had gone away and wanted nothing to do with us. He is a devil. He would not even let me stand at my baby’s grave.”

“It wasn’t true,” Tony denied vehemently, fury burning in his mouth as he clenched his teeth until they ached. He’d wanted them. He’d wanted them so badly. “Hughard he… he sent me to a monastery in Salzburg. I-I tried to write you but…”

“Stanislov fired your grandfather before the dirt covered your mother’s grave. He told us to leave the city but I told your Nonno we could not leave. How would you find us? My poor bambino so alone, so alone with those devils.” She spat, the disgust toward Hughards ghost sharp and full of vitriol even now. “Where are you Antony? Are you warm? Are you eating?”

Tony laughed through his tears at how quickly she switched tracks from spitting on the memory of his father to fussing over the most mundane of creature comforts. Was he warm? He felt like he’d never be cold again.

“Yes. Yes I’m eating Nonna. I've taken a position as a tutor here in Salzburg.”

“Ah, now you were always an intelligent child. So curious. They are treating you well? What family is this? Good family I hope!”

Tony felt a swell of pride low in his chest. He knew it wouldn't be reciprocated but it was there all the same. “I tutor Captain Rogers children.”

Silence again. 

“ _The_ Captain Rogers, children?” and she continued quietly after he confirmed. “Antony. No, this is- is no good. He is a bad man. A very bad man.”

Tony had expected it but still the words hurt. Speaking too close to his own fears.

“No, Nonna, I’m safe. He wouldn't...” He let out a rush of air. Anxiety and defensiveness building in his chest and said slowly. “He wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

He pressed his lips together, frustration pooling in his stomach. There was no way to prove to her that Stefen was a good man other than the fact he hadn't called the gestapo on him with all the many chances that Tony had provided. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. She only knew Stefen as a German officer, and nowadays a German officer was a like the siting of a crow. An omen, a bringer of death.

And the truth was, he didn't know if Stefen wouldn't change his tone if it suited him. Stefen had shown himself to be the sort of man who didn't go back on his word but Tony couldn’t afford to be a fool. A man would do most anything for the sake of his children.    

“It does not matter, do you hear me?” Nonna clucked fearfully. “It does not matter if he is kind now, he will not be kind later. It is how they are. They are born knowing how to kill. It’s better if you stay with your own kind.”

"What do you mean?”

“I mean you come home to your family now, fershtay. Come home where you belong.”

Home. He could go home. He had a home.

A relief almost sharp in its feeling rushed through Tony, but just as quickly it died away.

Home. And then what? Though Pola had belonged to Italy again since the Great War they would be no safer there. Not with Mussolini making deals with the Germans. In the long run, Pola wasn’t the answer and Tony couldn't bring himself to start down that path without first making sure the children were going to be alright. Their lives were in peril too, and they had far fewer choices in the matter than he did. He had to help them.

“Nonna, listen to me.” his voice cracked. “You have to leave Pola. It's not- you and Nonno have to leave. It's not safe anymore. Do you understand?”

There was silence so thick Tony felt it in his bones before she finally offered.

“This is our home, bambino. Where do you go but home?”

His chest was going to explode. She had to understand. But even now he could see his grandmother's calm face the way he remembered it from childhood, the tilt of her chin as she listened. The stubbornness.

“Mussolini will not allow them to do what they have done in Germany. The Germans will not come here. Don’t worry, bambino. I’ve prayed on it, God is on our side.”

There was no swaying her. He heard it in every word she spoke. She wouldn’t leave home, not for Stanislov’s threats and not for the threat of all of Germany bearing down on them.

In the end Tony gave her the address where to write him and agreed to visit her in Pola before next fall. An easy enough promise to make. No matter how the wind blew, whether he was with the Captain and his family or alone, he was going to see them again before he lost the chance.

He hung up the phone whispering a soft, “Ti amo, Nonna”.

He felt drained and heavy hearted. Devastated at finding them only to know he would inevitably lose them all over again. It made his stomach curdle. 

He’d just have to try harder to convince her and Nonna to leave the country. She was wrong, so terrifyingly wrong, about Mussolini being able to protect them from the Germans and if he couldn't sway her then there was no telling what would become of her.

But she believed herself to be right and on the side of the angels. How did you convince someone who believed themselves impervious to harm with the protection of God?

And she was wrong about Stefen, wrong about the children. Wasn’t she? Or was he just like her, hanging onto his hopes waiting on some miraculous sign that would vindicate his faith and show him all would be well?

Tony stayed lost in his troubled thoughts as he drifted through the house and down to the kitchens.

She was wrong about them.

She was wrong.

Sat in a corner he went over it all again and again in his mind, desperately clinging to the only sure thing in his head right now. The soft voice of his grandmother as she’d bid him goodbye.

_“Ti amo anch'io, Antony.”_

That's how Maria found him, sitting in a corner by himself shoulders slumped and his head resting in his hands. Wordlessly she crawled onto his lap and as he gathered her in his arms.

“ Are you mad?” She whispered after some time, unable to understand his strange mood.

“No. I’m deciding what to do and it’s...making me sad.” He sighed.

Wide dark eyes searched his.

 “Please don't be sad.”

A painful little huff of laughter escaped him and a little of his heart ache began to ease. If there was ever a child he would try and turn the tides for it was her.

“Well since you asked so politely.”

He hugged her too him and she laid her head on his shoulder, hugging him back.

“Ti amo, Tony.” she said, so simply, so proud of how her lessons were coming along.

Tony closed his eyes and hugged her a little tighter.

“Ti amo, Bambina.”      

~*~*~*~

_“The weak must be hammered away. In my schools, a youth develops who would terrify the world. I will have a powerful, lordly, unschockable, fierce youth. They must be able to bear pain. There must be nothing weak or tender about them. The free magnificent predatory animal must again flash from their eyes.”_

—Adolf Hitler (1936)

 

"He's had enough Johann, You're going to kill him!"

Péter's ears were ringing, but he thought it was Bobby who had shouted, though there were several pairs of hands involved in the process of hauling Johann off of him and helping to prop Péter up as a shrill whistle cut through the air.

"What is the meaning of this?" Their Banner Leader, Herr Lehmann, barked as the other boys jumped out of his way, hurrying to stand at attention. The only ones who didn't move were Péter, whose head was pounding too hard for him to contemplate breathing let alone standing and Bobby, who stood at attention next to him but seemed loath to leave his place in-between Péter and Johann.

"I gave you boys a simple assignment and I see that it is not done. Robert! Explain." Bannführer Lehmann demanded and Bobby's back stiffened up.

Péter raised a hand to touch the throbbing swell of his cheek and winced.

"The radio does not work well Bannführer, we need better supplies-" Bobby tried to explain but he was cut off by Herr Lehmann's barking voice.

"They are second hand, and good enough for schoolboys. Should the Führer expend his recourses just so Robert Drake can find further excuses to explain his less than satisfactory performance?"

"No Bannführer, but the condition of the radio made it next to impossible for us to complete our assignment." Bobby insisted with a touch of belligerence that Péter hoped he didn't get a smack for. "Rottenführer Rogers said he could fix ours. Cadet Johann did not believe him Sir and got into a fight with Cadet Hoff for defending him."

Herr Lehmann's mouth twisted in a disapproving frown before he scoffed down at Péter.

"Is this what we call a Section Leader?  If you were any kind of man Rogers you would not need others to defend you."

Péter bit his lip but could not suppress the red flush of humiliation that colored his cheeks as Johann smiled viciously at him over the Bannführer's shoulder.

It had not surprised Péter a bit after meeting General Schmidt at the officer’s ball during their trip to Vienna, that when they got home a letter had all but been waiting for them demanding that all children ten and older in the household were to report to their local youth chapters.

Father could hardly excuse him anymore by exaggerating his condition when all of Vienna had seen just how whole and healthy Péter was.

Still, Péter had held mixed feelings about joining the other boys in the program. Harry talked it up, but then again Harry was excited about training for the army.

Because that was the law now, that all boys had to enlist once they turned eighteen. The purpose of their training had been made clear to them because there was nothing to hide. A German boy's purpose was to become the German ideal of the best sort of man. A leader and a fighter. A man like Péter's father.

But of course not all of them could be. For some of them to be more, naturally some had to be less. Not all of them would become officers in the Führer's private army upon graduation. Some of them like Péter would prove too weak or too undisciplined for the army, and they would be sent out into the world for labor work. Somebody had to haul the bricks and polish the shoes after all. But everyone knew there wasn't real honor in it.

To stand above the others was the honor that all the boys in the program were grappling for. The local boys in Péter's unit would all be starting secondary school in the fall but no one wanted to settle for going to the local college when they could be one of the special ones selected to go to Vienna and study at one of Hitler's elite schools.

What boy wouldn’t want to go, in pursuit of the prestige and power the Reich promised to those who proved to be the bravest and strongest, those willing and capable of sacrificing the most? The Führer called men like that the jewels of the nation. Men like Péter's father.

But Péter was not his father. He was skinny, had a bad heart, and still suffered from the occasional bout of cold induced asthma. He was so far behind in school his last tutor had told father he could not take the state exam, meaning he couldn't even go to the local college with the other boys his age if he wanted to.

 Johann, still sore with Péter for calling him out in front of the girls in Vienna, seemed determined to remind Péter that he was by everyone's definition an undesirable waste of space.

Only, Péter knew he wasn’t.

Péter leaned over and spit blood out of his mouth. Digging his fingers against the cold surface of the floor he pushed himself up, climbing shakily to his feet.

He wasn't inferior. He hadn't been sure at all he could really fix the small radio on his own without Tony there but it had worked! Péter had fixed it and all the other boys had been admiring him. Johann had just been jealous, because even without taking the stupid exam Péter had beat him at something.

He picked on Hoff just because he was smaller, lower in the ranks, and Péter wasn't going to let him. If that meant getting beat up every time he opened his mouth, well at least he knew he was doing the right thing and not just saying it. Not like father.

"It was nothing, Bannführer. Just a fight." Péter said for himself, swallowing a mouthful of blood saliva. He could feel his face swelling and wondered for a moment how he'd explain it this time. Tony was not liable to believe he'd fallen off his bicycle a second time.

"A fight you should have won Rogers." Herr Lehmann barked. "By right I should ripp that patch off your shoulder and give it to Johann. To think you are the son of a man like Captain Rogers. It boggles the mind. Your mother must have cuckolded him."

Péter saw red and had to clench his fists tightly and bite his lip not to take a swing at the man. Turning to the rest of their squad Bannführer Lehmann began to give a familiar speech.

"It just goes to show boys, what impurities in the blood will breed. A man's name is nothing. His value is in what he contributes to his nation. Now, I want this place spotless before you go. Heil the Führer!"

Péter was still trembling with rage but Bobby's sharp elbow jabbed into his side and he did as the other boys did and raised his hand in salute.

Heil the Führer.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Every day after afternoon lessons Péter and his siblings, except for Maria and Sara who were still too young for the youth programs, made their way into town to meet up with their units. And every evening at five o'clock with the squads released them to go home to their dinners, Péter met up with his siblings in the square to begin the journey home.

As Péter left the library that afternoon and looked toward the center of the square where his brothers and sisters waited by the fountain, he was struck by all the differences a few months could make.

Natacha was a leader like him in the Young Maidens and looked incredibly grown up in her uniform, her red hair bright in the late summer sun. She did well, but Péter knew she wasn't well liked among the other girls. Partly due to their jealousy of her wealth, her name, and the station it had granted her, but mostly because Natacha held herself apart and came off as stand-offish.

Péter didn't know why she resisted making friends when months ago joining the league had been all she could talk about. Her bedroom was still covered in clippings and magazines lauding a woman's role as wife and mother, and nobody scored hirer than she did in the eugenics classes the girls were all required to take.

There were more than a few of the boys from Péter's squad and others hanging about the square who were tossing looks her way or attempting to flirt with her, and everyone said that when she graduated the program she was sure to marry only the noblest and highest of officers.

She should have been on top of the world and yet Natacha behaved as if she were just going through the motions; as if none of it held real meaning for her any more.

She ignored the boys and girls clamoring for her attention in favor of keeping a close eye on Artur and James, who were always exuberant after spending time in the Little Fellows (or pimpfs as people liked to call them) where boys from ages six to ten got together to play athletic games, learn the principles of good character and sing songs in parade.

Artur struggled more with some of the extreme exercises, such as the hike the pimpfs had gone on where they'd been required to carry an eleven pound knapsack over thirteen miles, but he was stubborn as a goat. That and the fact that he was a Rogers coupled with his Ayran looks endeared him to his section leaders, who liked to remind everyone that his father had once been small too and look how he had turned out. The same did not apply to Péter, but then again Péter was unfortunate enough to get his mother's dark hair and eyes.

James did not have Artur's winsome smile or coveted blond hair, but he was boisterous and (sometimes viciously) competitive, and, thanks to Tony, a talented singer which all served to make him well liked. Péter was grateful that things were easier for the younger boys, because he didn't like to think of them getting beat up every day. Even if James often tempted him to discover differently.

Ian out of all of them probably had it best in the Young Folk. It was the second tier in the boy's programs, where boys from ages ten to thirteen started making the transition from young boys playing at war to young men training for it.

Ian was everything Péter wasn't and that Artur was expected to grow into. Healthy, strong, Aaryn looking, intelligent, and a natural born leader. He was what people said the Nazis were when they were painted as brave noble figures in the literature they read and genteel commanding husbands on television (instead of showing them beating old men and skinny boys into the ground just because they could).

The other boys in his unit respected Ian and the girls in the league didn't have to ask if he was really Captain Rogers son, because nothing could have been more obvious.

Right down to the furious way his lips tightened when he spotted Péter and his eyes took in Péter's swollen eye and the cuts on his face.

"Péter, your face!" Artur gasped, halting the game of skipping rocks he'd been playing with James when he caught sight of his older brother.

"It was Johann again wasn't it?" Ian growled, laying a worried hand on his shoulder, eyes already searching the square for a glimpse of Johann. That was just what Péter needed. His younger brother defending his honor and making him look even more pathetic.

"We were boxing today." Péter lied, shrugging off Ian's hand. "I got a few good licks in too."

"Charles told me that you were learning code breaking today, on the radios." Natacha pressed back with a knowing stare and Péter flushed before shrugging again.

"Just leave it alone Tacha." He grumbled as he mounted his bicycle. "Come on, if we're late for supper again Frau Hogan will skin us."

The others followed him without further complaint but Péter could feel their eyes on him as they cycled through town.

Their stares made Péter want to crawl out of his skin or start shouting at someone about how unfair it was (how stupid it all was) but he couldn't do that. Couldn't do anything to stop all of this or to help himself except-

 _"Number Thirteen, Judengasse"_ Anamarie's whisper came back to him and the question she'd asked him. Was he the kind of person who acted on knowing what it meant to be a good man, or did he just wish on stars?

When Péter turned his bike around he hadn't yet decided what he was going to do, but his heart was pounding in his ears as Natacha demanded to know where he was going.

The answer was Number Thirteen in the Jewish Quarter but what he shouted over his shoulder to his sister was, "I forgot to pick up something at the library. Don't wait. I'll catch up."

The heaviness that had been sitting in his chest finally lifted.

~*~*~*~

 

Tony had taught them all about the city they called home so Péter knew the history of the Jewish Quarter, a small section of Salzburg that at various points in the city's history had been the designated area for Jews.

Some of the buildings had been gutted for more modern apartments and shops, but many of them still bore their medieval foundations. The smoke blackened brick at the base of a butchers shop still told the story of when Albert "the Magnanimous" Duke of Austria, had ordered all the Jews arrested back in the fifteenth century. Some had gone into the mix of a collection of two hundred who were publicly burned, while the rest had been deported from the city.

As Péter Rogers parked his bike behind the butchers shop he pondered what a strange thing it was to watch history repeat itself so many centuries later.

As more and more of Salzburg's jews found their businesses and properties seized by the officials they were forced to relocate to the only place in the city where they were still allowed to live and do business amongst themselves so long as they kept to themselves and didn't cause trouble.

Just to be sure they didn't, boys from the youth program were tasked with patrolling both ends of the street to make sure everyone kept the peace, and that no Jews tried to do anything illegal like going someplace they weren't wanted or walking about without their designated stars.

Which was what made it easy for Péter to make his way unquestioned. His uniform made him an authority.

All he had to do was grumble about patrol duty as he passed the pair of boys guarding the main street, and once he was zipping down the side streets none of the people he passed with the bright yellow stars stitched to their clothes dared to so much as catch his eye, let alone question him.

Still his heart was pounding as he considered the stone façade of the butcher’s shop, number thirteen, and the peeling paint on the back door.

 When he pounded on the door there was no immediate answer. He knocked again, only pausing when he heard the shuffling sound of footsteps behind the door and the grating of metal as the mail slot was pushed open.

"What do you want?" A gruff voice asked behind the wood.

"It's Spider. Six o'clock and all's well."

The first-time Péter had come to number thirteen in the Jewish Quarter at Anamarie's prompting, he'd not been sure what he'd find but the nature of their conversation had given him a good idea.

Resistance to the Reich was everywhere and their leaders were always assuring them of the necessity of stamping it out.

It came in many forms too. For some resistance looked like aiding undesirables in defiance of German law, and for others that looked like publishing and sharing news that had been declared fraudulent and amoral and the sharing of was punishable treason in the Reich.

The adults in Péter's world seemed content to keep their heads down and shuffle along under the boot of the Nazi's but there were some, like Anamarie and her friends, who believed that it was their duty to stand up against Hitler because he was a tyrant who should be removed from office.

They ran around the city, delivering the important news that the Führer didn't want the people to know, and X-ing out Nazi propaganda in favor of messages calling for resistance. They went by code names even though many of them were friends with at least one other member in the group, because it was safer in case they were ever caught. That way no one boy or girl could bring the entire group down. 

After explaining everything to him Anamarie, who was known in the group as Rogue, had asked him what skills he had that might be of use, and like a perfect idiot Péter had stuttered that he was the best climber he knew, and that he could climb the side of a house with a jar of spiders in his hand.

She'd laughed at him, but not in a mean way, and honestly Péter was okay with her laughing however she wanted to because she had just about the nicest laugh he'd ever heard.

"Well Spider, what do you think?" She'd asked. "Are you ready for action, or do you want to go back to your day dreams?"

When Péter walked into the basement of the butcher shop that evening he was unsurprised to find Rogue there, along with the others.

It was early yet, but he knew they were scheduled to make another distribution that night and on distribution nights there was a lot they needed to do to get ready.

Patriot brought the papers, usually smuggled under piles of yesterdays issue. Even though he was a negro the others in the group welcomed him because he was the supply man. Though Péter didn't know who made the programs and printed them for Patriot to deliver to them, it heartened him to know that somebody at one of the printing houses must also be on the side of resistance.

Under cover of darkness the team would spread them around the city while conducting their smear campaign in red paint. Before then there was strategy to consider in order to avoid police and patrols, as well as escape plans to come up with. Though usually they amounted to 'run and don't get caught'.

"Spider!" Kitty noticed him first, brown eyes widening at the sight of his crisp uniform. "We didn't think you'd come back. You look like you're here to arrest us."

"Or turn us in." Justice grumbled, and Péter noticed that he'd moved in front of Firestar somewhat protectively. "I told you it was crazy to bring him here!"

While Patriot and Nightcrawler remained tensely silent Rogue was the only one who seemed unconcerned when she saw him.

"He wouldn't do that. He's one of us. Aren't you Spider?" Péter fought the urge to blush as he nodded and answered.

"My tutor and I built a radio. It could be useful, that is... I'd like to be useful, if the offer is still open."

Anamarie's eyes lit up and her mouth curled in a jubilant smile. And even though Péter lost that battle with his traitorous cheeks he still felt taller than he'd ever felt before.

He might not have been his father's son, but in that moment Péter Rogers finally felt like the man he'd always wanted to be.

 

~*~*~*~

 

“Herr Sark!” Tony paused at the sound of his name. He was halfway up the staircase, the books and manuscripts in his arms balanced precariously. He shifted them impatiently as Hammer took his time sauntering slowly towards him, three small parcels under his arm.

“You have mail from Berlin.”

Ah. The parts he’d ordered. Tony shifted the books to make room for the parcels, struggling not to lose control of the whole stack but Hammer made no move to place them in Tony’s keeping. Instead he held them delicately out, a small smirk twitching at his lips standing at the bottom of the stairs as still as if he’d grown roots there.

Bastard.

“Hammer, if you hadn’t noticed-” Tony began loudly but a door burst open down in the hall below, startling him enough that he almost sent a heavy text toppling to the floor.

“There you are!” Stefen trotted toward them, all energy, effectively stopping what was sure to be yet another collision of wills (and a boring one at that) between himself and Hammer. “Ton-Stark, I need you to- what are you doing?”

Stefen paused, his eyes flickering over Tony practically doing acrobats with literature and to his butler who was stupidly still holding out Tony’s mail with a slightly stunned look on his face.

“Thank you, Hammer. That’ll be all.” Stefen barely noticed the disgruntled look Hammer shot his way as he took the parcels from the man's outstretched hand and tucked them under his own arm and dismissed him without a second thought, darting up the stairs to snatch some of the tipping manuscripts off of Tony’s teetering tower and grasp hold of his arm for balance.

Tony was nearly dragged up the stairs and manhandled into the hallway and perhaps under different circumstances he might have enjoyed it but Stefen was developing a tendency to lug him around like Sara did her dolls and he was most certainly not a plaything.

“Hold your horses, Cap” he grunted and Stefen had the good graces to look a little chagrined as he released Tony's arm; the offending hand clenching into a fist at his side. The captain took a slight breath his eyes traveling over Tony's face. Tony was growing used to these states now that Stefen was home more often. The manic bursts of energy that powered him for days rivaled even Tony’s creative benders but the move would inevitably pass, leaving him brittle and pale.

There was no telling when it would happen either. He’d just slip from one extreme mood to the other. The last time he’d crashed without anyone noticing at all, following Maria around listening to her chatter in a daze until he’d just disappeared into his office without so much as a word of goodbye. Tony had found Natacha placing a blanket over his shoulder, the familiar way in which she tucked him into a comfortable position and ordered his things suggesting that this behavior was not unusual to her in the slightest. He’d been using what looked like important documents as a pillow, his breathing labored as if he’d been running.

Worrying as the bouts of shock were Tony would take manic moods and harrowing lows over stares. The ones that practically sizzled with intensity and seemed to see straight through Tony’s…. everything. They were happing with regularity since Vienna and those gazes always left Tony feeling uncomfortably close to abandoning sanity altogether and throwing himself on the man.

Tony arched an eyebrow waiting for Stefen to get to whatever was so urgent he’d felt the need to drag him up the stairs.

“I need your help, Tony.”

“So you said.”

Whatever Stefen wanted to say must be important. All that intensity was still locked tight within his body, and every last drop of it felt like it was focused on Tony now.

“I have a favor, two favors to ask of you. I’ve been invited, commanded really, to attend a dinner in Berlin. Anton Vankov is the guest of honor, he is a chief researcher in the Ahnenerbe. They’ve returned from an expedition in Italy -” he faltered slightly, noticing the dark expression that had taken residence on Tony’s face. His eyes searched Tony’s a moment more. “Are you familiar with Herr Vonkov’s work?”

“Very.” Tony answered tightly. Vonkov had taken up teaching as a young man as a means of supporting himself. He’d been snobbish and judgmental, Tony remembered, and not at all thrilled with having Tony as a pupil. He’d not left his position on good terms, but it was more than Tony wanted to explain.

 “Good. I thought you might,” Stefen began again with some uncertainty.  “You have a far better head for the sciences than I do.”

“I do.” Tony allowed, wondering where Stefen intended to take this. Stefen stepped closer, and the tension between them changed yet again, back to that low thrumming intensity that had his stomach fluttering.

“I’d like you to come with me Stark.” Stefen said lowly.  “I'll make it worth your while.”

Tony blinked.

That was new.

A small smile played on Stefen’s lips as he made his case.

“He's a historian, Tony. He gabs on and on about things that might as well be English for all I can understand them. He's probably not too concerned if I can follow him actually.”

Stefen wanted him to go to Berlin, to attend a dinner with a bunch of stuffy Nazi researchers because the conversation would go over his head. That sounded an awful lot like Steve wanted... company to Tony.

After Vienna Tony hadn't been at all sure Stefen would continue his, for lack of better word, extension of friendship. Neither of them were dull men. What was brewing between them was plain, and he was well aware that Stefan could easily pull back the tentative olive branch he'd extended at any time, which would leave Tony where exactly.

A helpful little voice that sounded an awful lot like brother Fil whispered that it would look like a one-way ticket to a prison cell, if he were lucky. But Stefen wasn’t pulling away or showing any signs of uncertainty. He’d just asked Tony to go to Germany, simply because he’d enjoy the company.

Tony didn’t have an answer for that, so he didn’t offer one holding out his hand wordlessly for the parcel Stefen still held. Stefan didn't move, waiting for Tony's answer.

They were going to do this apparently.

“You'll like him, Tony.”

“I highly doubt that. He’s a fool.”

“Then you’ll enjoy proving it.”

“And you’ll enjoy not falling into your dinner plate from boredom.”

“That had crossed my mind.” Stefen drawled, his usual pollish giving way to country breeding with a positively boyish grin and Tony’s heart squeezed in his chest. No. He shouldn’t even consider it. He had a low profile to keep. He should not be going to dinner with Nazis in Berlin of all places. Was he mad?

“Are you going to give me my parcel?”

“Don’t know. Ya gonna come?”

Infuriating man. 

“I might.” Tony gestured for the parcels. “I believe those are mine.”

“It would be a shame, you know, to miss out on such a great meeting of minds. Maybe teach em’ a few things.”

“Excuse me, no. Twisting the situation will get you nowhere captain. Weren't you the one who needs my company?”   

“Weren't you the one who needed more supplies?” Stefen teased, keeping the parcels locked close to his chest.

It was not at all hard to believe this man had had a hand in making James. If Tony didn’t know any better he’d say that Stefen was this close to hiding them behind his back like a little school boy. As it was he seemed content to hold Tony's things closer to him almost daring him to make a go at it.

“Are you holding them hostage? Honestly Stefen this is ridiculous. Who would teach your children if I swanned off to Berlin with their father?”

“It’s only a few days Tony.  Have you been to Berlin? Don’t you want to see what the city has to offer?” Stefen cajoled, his tone filled with something much softer than Tony had heard before. Lazy and thick like the slide of honey on buttered toast. “I’ll take you wherever you like. You’ll have access to anything you want. I'll make sure of it.”

Access to everything. Everything. Tony didn’t pretend to misunderstand him as his eyes raked over Stefen's form.

It was absolute suicide but how could he say no to an invitation like that?

Tony licked suddenly lips.

“Can't say you don't know my taste, Cap.”

Stefen broke out into the first real smile Tony had seen all day, blindingly bright.

God help him. Tony cleared the block in his throat.

“And the second thing?”

Stefen blinked at him, surprised out of his pleasure.

“Oh, yes. I’m taking the children hunting in the morning. I expect you to come along.”

“Hunting?” Tony asked with confusion as Stefen clapped him companionably on the arm and just left him there, wondering if he’d possibly misheard the man.

 

 

~*~

 

Tony hadn’t misheard Stefen’s request the other day. He’d had no intention of going along with the harebrained idea, thank you very much. Stefen and Bucky were out of their god given minds if they thought James had any business handling a gun, and Ian wouldn't hurt a fly. Take seven children gallivanting about the woods with dangerous weaponry, ha! 

He was still flabbergasted that he had to talk two relatively sensible men out of supplying a three-year-old with a gun, and he couldn't help the resentment he felt at being made to be the voice of reason. He was completely out of practice. Stefen had asked again that night at supper if Tony would come, that little half smile making an appearance again. Once the children had caught wind that they might spend a morning with their father and their uncle, free from lessons there was no getting them off the idea. Even Péter had kept sending him pleading looks. Damn Stefen for asking in front of them anyway. Tony knew he’d done it on purpose.

In a compromise, Sunday morning found them all in a little clearing not far from the city setting up cans and bottles with the older boys. James was practically humming with excitement as Stefen knelt in front of him to help him adjust his grip. Tony watched the pair nervously. He didn’t think the boy was old enough to be lumped with the older set. He’d tried every argument he could think of for leaving the rambunctious child back at the house. There was no arguing with Stefen once he’d set his mind to something and despite the boy's disjointed schedule, somehow he’d arranged it so that he still managed to leave the house with all his boys save Artur.

Tony felt his stomach jerk uneasily. The picture they made, Stefen calm and assured, large hand wrapped around James smaller one as he held the rifle that was nearly as long as he was. Himmler was missing out on prime propaganda material.

Ian plopped Stefens bag of “extra” materials down next to him and eye’d his father and James warily while Tony and Bakhuizen set up the cans, Bakhuizen keeping oddly quiet. They had only brought two guns and copious amounts of ammo, Tony noticed, filing the information away. He more than intent on prying the reason for all of this from Stefen at a later date; because there was something going on here.

“Take this,” Bakhuizen said gruffly, shoving their basket of food into Tony's chest. Tony wobbled backward with the force of it.

That was new.  The man’s conduct toward Tony had never been exactly warm but lately it was downright chilly. He watched Bakhuizen’s retreating back and the easy language of his body as he sidled up to Ian and Péter.

Tony arched an eyebrow and lifted the lid of the basket, looking down into the bright assortments of fruit and cheese. Willamina had packed them with care telling Tony as he'd made his coffee, that the captain and his wife had made a habit of eating outside when it was only the five of them.

“He ate under the clouds more than he did the dining room ceiling but he lost interest in it when Margrit died.”

Well, if there was one good thing in all this madness it was that Stefen wasn’t retreating back into his shell as often. It was good, that he got out with the children more.

The children were growing more brown as the days passed. Ian, Péter and Maria were all displaying freckles Tony had declared adorable over their biology lesion a few days ago. Only Maria had found it charming. Natacha had seemed positively horrified. Sun and color was a good look on all of them. Stefen himself had begun to look less like the swallow faced man he’d first encountered what seemed like a lifetime ago, his skin favoring a swarthy golden color. Bronzing in the summer sun he looked about as far from that carved statue Tony had met a few months ago as he'd ever been. He looked made for sunshine and wild grass.

Why, in the right light he and Bakhuizen looked like a pair of gypsies. Lucky for Stefen he was hardly ever in the right light for it and that golden hair of his was all the credit he needed and besides Tony had never seen a gypsy without a caravan. It simply did not happen.

“All right who's killing-”

“-Stark”

“Shooting first. Honestly, Cap. Don't get your trousers in a bunch.” Tony grinned, winking at a giggling James.

And so the games began. Péter was a surprisingly bad shot; or rather he was a fine shot until he had to pull the trigger.

BANG

Péter flinched again and cursed under his breath as the tin can wobbled but failed to fall over.

“Are you sure it's not rigged?” he muttered under his breath, frustrated with his lack of progress.

“Just stay calm,” Stefen said for what must have been the eleventh time. Péter lowered the rifle to glare at his father.

“I can shoot. I aced the practice test. Herr Vondearn says I’m a natural.”

“On paper.” Stefan replied dryly, missing the flicker of hurt that crossed Péter's face.

“The HJ’s system doesn’t lie, Father.”

“Of course it don’t. Careful, Chava, you might hit something.” Bakhuizen teased the boy, dropping a few extra tin cans next to Tony and Ian.

“You’re all set now” he said, shoving Ian's shoulder playfully.  Ian looked at the bottles set on top of the log ten paces out with a doubtful expression and then back at his father.

“Don’t you think James ought to go-” he began to ask meekly but he was quickly shut down.

“No.” came staunchly from Stefen

“Stop trying to weasel out of things” Péter egged.

“If you don’t pick up that pistol Ian I swear,” Bakhuizen sighed.

Tony was surprised Ian didn't shrink from the sudden onslaught, all three turning on him at once. Morons.  He took a step forward but was stopped when Stefen, who'd given the simplest of answers, amended as Ian’s eyes widened in fear.

“James needs an example” he said gently this time, as he stepped behind the boy and wrapped his hands around Ian's, moving much smaller fingers over the body of the weapon. “I’ll help you.” 

The stiffness in Ian’s shoulders eased a little as he craned his neck to see his father.  He pushed back into Stefen's bulk, settling into the enclosure of his arms and nodded, his lips pressing into a determined line.

In the end James and Ian took turns with the pistol, both managing quite well despite their youth to Tony’s surprise.

“They should already know how to shoot.” was Bucky’s stilted response when Tony remarked on this.

James was very enthusiastic. Perhaps a little too much, Tony thought. A fierce glow had entered his eyes and though he missed six times out of ten Tony was sure that wouldn't last long. Not with his fervor. The boy could barely contain his excitement. He’d be begging Tony to allow them to go shooting every day of the week from now on.

Ian in contrast, seemed to have found his third arm. Unlike Péter and James he’d inherited his father's fabled ability with a rifle.

One, two, three. One right after the other the cans exploded off of the logs and landed on the ground to the cheers of everyone watch. The almost constant trepidation that dogged Ian melted away as he found his stride. He was sure and he was steady. A natural.

 _“They’re born knowing how to kill. It comes naturally to them.”_ His Nonna’s words came back to him.

Natural born killers.

BANG.

Tony was startled out of his thoughts as Péter shot off another round, his can shaking belligerently but still refusing to fall.

Natural born.Tony snorted, the knot that had formed in his stomach loosening slightly. Nonna clearly had not seen Péter Rogers shoot a rifle.

“The targets over there, Pete.”  He teased shaking off the dark mood.

 

~*~

 

Halfway through the day Tony had lost interest in target practice and had begun to pick around in the foliage for things to teach the children about. In fact, he’d found a patch of weeds that looked decidedly like-

“Why don’t you try.”  He heard Péter ask and Tony glanced up, more than willing to see what Stefen (or even Bakhuizen) could do with a rifle. There was gossip and there was seeing it for yourself after all.

However it wasn’t either of them Péter was looking expectantly at.  

Oh.

“Ah, no.” Tony shook his head. 

Absolutely not.

“Why not?” Stefan asked, that playful little smile creeping back into play. James perked up, abandoning his place at Ian's side to watch his favorite sport.

“I'm a man of peace, cap.” Tony replied coolly.

Stefen teased in reply, “You’re a man of God, stark. There's nothing peaceful about you.”

He held out the pistol to Tony, his eyes light with merriment. Tony was half tempted to take it just to keep that look in his eyes.

Bucky snorted, diminishing Tony with a glance.

“Go on, we could all use a laugh.”

Tony was tempted to agree just to show the man a thing or two but there was still the matter of his pride. What was this, really? Tony went over the events of the last few days in rapid succession.

Stefen didn’t just want the boys to learn to shoot, he behaved as if he needed them to know. He’d been all ready to drag all seven children out here including little Sara until Tony had put his foot down. So why? What was it all for?

He eyed Stefen who was still waiting expectantly. A man of peace or a man of God.

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets, careful to keep his nerves in check.

“They’re the same thing, Cap.”

Stefen held his gaze, something thoughtful passing behind his eyes.

“I suppose so,” he agreed after a moment, calculation practically coming off him in waves. And something else as well. Something far more open and vulnerable.

“So,” Stefen took a breath, his expression clearing somewhat.

“What do you say, Tony?” His smile was as contagious as it always was as he softly rumbled. “Ya, trust me?”

Damn.

No one could render Tony so wrong footed so quickly. Well no one outside of his father, but that was an entirely different sort of wrong footed.

“I’ll do my worst.” Tony gave in with a sigh. 

He did. His worst was particularly terrible. Mostly because he had no patience for sighting, nor any care for wind control; and also because Stefen being focused on him meant he couldn’t focus on Péter's poor performance.

“You’ve got to slow down.” Stefan corrected Tony’s hands again, indiscreet, nothing he hadn't done for all three of his boys save for the way his fingers seemed to linger on Tony’s. Alright so Tony’s intentions weren't a hundred percent altruistic but who could fault him? He could feel Stefen’s every shift behind him, close enough that he could smell the aftershave he had used that morning. A combination of talc and sandalwood and something distinctly Stefen.

No one. No one would fault him. 

“Take your time,” Stefen murmured encouragingly.

Oh, he would like to.  He‘d like to put himself to task at unraveling Stefen piece by-

“Preferably aim.” Stefen admonished and Tony jerked the dipping barrel back up.

Was he blushing? Tony’s face felt hot, was he blushing? Was he, a fully grown adult flushing like a schoolgirl?  He blinked hard, trying to clear his thoughts.

BANG. Another miss.

“I thought the point was to shoot them before they shoot me?” Tony groused.

“It is.” Stefan agreed, taking the pistol from Tony and reloading it. “But ya gotta hit them first.”

His tone was terse and did the job of cooling off the rest of Tony’s thoughts. Stefen seemed irritated now. Irritation that, Tony guessed, had less to do with his inability to shoot and more to do with his blatant refusal to try. Well, he could just get used to it. If Stefen wasn’t going to be honest than Tony wasn’t going to exert himself. Every action had an equal and opposite reaction.   

He turned back to the targets.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Eventually the cans were shot through and stomachs started to rumble, prompting Stefen and Bakhuizen to pick through Wilhelmina's basket and set to work setting out the cheeses, bread, and fruit she’d packed.  The boys darted back and forth between the little creek and their picnic. Their heads bent together as they stood on the bank of the creek, Péter explaining matter of factly to his younger siblings the concept of erosion. Tony smiled.

Bakhuizen pulled out his violin, plucking at it for a few moments before beginning a humming lilting tune, his eyes shut and fingers flying. He really was very good Tony thought distractedly. Able to paint words with his bow, it was no wonder he was in high demand as a musician and producer. The music curled around them easing Tony into a state of ease he'd not felt in months.

Even still, Tony couldn’t stay still for long. In Bakhuizen’s bag Tony found a few extra tools that Stefen had brought along for cleaning and Tony had promptly gone about disassembling the two weapons. They were mostly clean already of course, save the grime and heat from their recent firing. They were clearly well taken care of but it was always good to know what you were working with after all.

He clicked the barrel back in place and looked up to find Stefen watching him intently.

“Need something, Cap?”

He didn't really expect Stefen to answer. Stefen had that hollow look in his eye again and had sunk into a telling quietness that, while not quite stirring Tony’s worry, had them all glancing his ways more often than not. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between Bakhuizen and the children that for now, Stefen was not to be engaged. He was like a giant stone that they rippled around without disturbing.

“What are you doing?” Tony was surprised to hear him ask after a long moment. Good, he was back with them again. Tony swung the rifle around and looked down the spine. The sleek dark wood gleamed in the sunlight as he sighted a faraway stump and answered.

“You’ve got to take something apart to understand it properly.”

Stefen hummed at that, eyes sliding along the barrel of the rifle lazily. He reached into the basket, his movements lazy almost sluggish and pulled out an apple. It’d been almost two weeks since Tony had seen Stefan eat without prompting. That routine he had of pushing around food on his plate and taking sparse bites at mealtimes didn’t count. Tony was three days away from force feeding the man just to see him eat a whole meal for once. He’d done better in Vienna but he’d had something to prove then. Well… that wasn’t a bad idea.

Tony had a theory to test.

Without looking away from the rifle Tony pawed at Stef’s arm until he dropped the apple into his outstretched hand. He took a large bite, juggling the rifle and apple as he did. A bit of juice ran down his chin and he dropped the apple back into Stefen’s lap, licking the residue from his lips and whiping his hand on his trousers.

Tony went back to putting the rifle back together and Stefen regarded the piece of abandoned fruit, blinking at it as if it had just spoken to him. 

“I’m a fair mechanic.” Tony said over the stunned silence, the Italian slipping easily over his tongue.  “I pride myself on being able to take things apart and put them back together. Don’t look so surprised.”

“You don’t do too much that surprises me anymore, Tony.” Stefen answered back in Italian. 

Tony whipped his head up just in time to catch the faint smile on Stefen’s face. Something eased in his gut at the sight and he smirked back, feigning mock dismay.

“I don’t surprise you? Why, Cap. you wound me!”

Finished, he sat the rifle down and scooped up the pistol, quickly disassembling it. He paused, pistol in three pieces, as he felt the weight of Stefen’s still sitting gaze on him.

“Do you mind?” Tony gestured at the pieces. He perhaps should have asked before, but better to ask forgiveness and all that.

“That was Peggy’s, my wife. That was my wife's pistol.”

Tony turned the pistol over in his hands. Margrit Rogers had a pistol? A bubble of laughter tickled his gut and he quickly staunched it. Of course she’d had a pistol. It was strangely easy to imagine the beautiful woman in the old photograph pointing a pistol at someone. Thinking of her daughter, Tony would place good money on Margrit Rogers suffering no fools. He wondered how she’d taken to Stefen’s moods, if he’d always had them, or if they were a scar of war. He wondered with some mirth if she had ever turned the pistol on Stefen in jest. God knew he could tempt a man at times.

Margrit Rogers, the one and only. The only person according to...well everyone, that Captain Rogers had ever loved.  And yet, there was no trace of her anywhere save a few trinkets and a pistol because Stefen couldn’t even bear to think of her, let alone say her name.

Until now. Tony could almost feel the weight of Stefen's words on his shoulders.

His wife Peggy. The mother of his children. 

And Tony had taken the whole thing apart.

Stefen had let him.

“Some things can’t be put back.” Stefen’s voice sounded like gravel, he cleared it and continued gaze firmly locked with Tony's.

“They can’t be put back together once they come apart.”

The urge to figure Stefen out, what made his mind tick, all the things he kept so readily behind locked lips had never faded. And now? Tony desperately wanted to pull him apart like a theorem, undo all of his tight corners until he understood him.

“Why do you ask, Cap? Are you considering being undone?”  

Blue eyes pinned him in place. Everything about Stefen was coiled tight in way that was becoming so very achingly familiar.

Stefen drew in a short breath, and Tony’s eyes flew to the unconscious movement of his thumb brushing around the mark of teeth in his apple.

“I might.”

A shout of triumph from Ian pulled both their attention just in time to see him and James go toppling over into the water. They came back up again, James choking dramatically.  

“Father!” James watery cry carried across the bank.

For a man who had only three months ago not intended his sons to see the light of day, let alone learn to swim for fear they would break, Stefen seemed very unconcerned with the development.

His gaze flickered over Tony one last time before turning to squint at Ian and James.

“Tony! Help!’ James cried once more in a tone that told Tony he was more indignant than distressed.

“Are you dying?” Stefen called, switching back to German and sounding for all the world bored. How he managed to look and sound so composed after an exchange like that Tony didn't know because he felt like he’d had an electric shock to the heart…and possibly his groin. Most definitely his groin, he thought begrudgingly as Ian continued trying to drown his younger brother.

Péter backed away from their splashes, looking unimpressed that fate had saddled him with these two for younger brothers.

Stefen bit into the apple he’d been holding, a rumble of laughter leaving him.

“Ask your uncle for help.” Stefen called, gesturing to Bakhuizen who had wandered further down the bank. Without missing a note the man managed to make a rude gesture, shouting something back in their strange polish and Stefen’s smile grew.

He took another satisfied bite of the fruit and Tony blinked sluggishly at him, his brain revving back up to its regular speeds. Well then, a theory he’d definitely have to investigate further.

“They’ll need regular practice. What are your lesson plans for next week?”

Tony highly suspected that Stefen was asking out of politeness, because his tone definitely brooked no room for argument. Shooting was to be a regular part of their lives, because the captain would have it so.

Tony answered, Stefen nodding in that distracted way that told him Stefen was already three steps into a plan and hardly hearing him.

“Good, we’ll come back Thursday.”

The finality in his voice was sobering, reminding Tony of all his reservations. Something was happening here. But what?

“If I didn't know any better I’d say you had a secret agenda, Cap.”

Stefen, unbothered by the seeking tone, cocked his head in a playful tilt.

“But you know better,” he teased turning back to watch the boys as they tired of their play and dragged themselves from the creek.

“Of Captain Rogers pride of the Gebirgstruppe? Yes. But Stefen Rogers?” Stef’s gaze snapped back to him all the intensity from before returned to crackle in the air, all of his focus on Tony. Just how Tony craved it. 

“He’s an entirely different story.” 

 

~*~*~*~

 

_Every Aryan hero should marry only a blonde Aryan woman with blue, wide-open eyes, a long oval face, pink and white skin, a narrow nose, a small mouth. A blonde blue-eyed man must marry no brunette, no Mediterranean-type woman with short legs, black legs. hooked nose, full lips, a large mouth and an inclination to plumpness. A blonde blue eyed Aryan hero must marry no Negroid-type of woman with the well known Negroid head and thin body. The Aryan hero must marry only his equal Aryan woman, but not one who goes out too much or likes theatres, entertainment or sport, or who cares to be seen outside her house. [_

_[_ Das Wissen der Na ton, 1934, Women and Girls _.]_

~*~*~*~

Tony was a brilliant man and despite his eccentricates (maybe even because of them) he made a fine mentor for the children, especially for Péter who had read more books than Steve even knew they owned before he was Ian's age and had more questions about why things worked the way they did, than any sane man had answers.

Steve was grateful that Péter had someone learned he could go to without having to depend on the disappointing efforts of an old soldier like him; he wished sometimes that it was him Péter still ran to with his questions and his little inventions but there was no practical use in harboring such petty jealousy. Tony was better suited and Steve wouldn't willingly take away the boy's newfound confidence, but Tony's interference – and it was nothing short of that – in their lives had come with consequences.

He wouldn’t exchange Tony for anyone else, but trouble certainly seemed to follow the man.

On Stefen's desk in his study was a letter from the Theresian Academy in Vienna, the prestigious boarding school founded by Empress Maria Theresa. It was now just another jewel in Hitler's crown, having been reformed into a national school. A school dedicated to training young men for political, military and administrative leadership in the Nazi state. Which in simpler terms meant it was a Nazi training camp, that would take whatever decency was still left in his boy and pound it out of him.

Steve had seen the reports. Talked to other officers. He'd heard about the injuries that sent one and every five boys home to their parents with broken spirits to go with their broken bodies. He'd heard of deaths, quieted and swept under the rug.

The Academy was "offering" Péter a place there contingent on his exam scores, but Steve knew very well it was not truly an offer. It was a demand, undoubtedly set in motion by General Schmidt, who was determined to hold Stefen's children hostage in order to guarantee his obedience.  Interfering with the children, forcing him to attend that damn dinner in Berlin. It was all about reminding Steve of the power they held over him.

Steve had received similar letters over the past year, but before, it had been simple enough to keep the children behind their peers.

Their bouts of illness, both real and exaggerated, had often removed them from the classroom and their teachers had been all too happy to concur with his parental concern that they needed additional time to catch up due to their long absences.

When it had become necessary he'd removed them from public education altogether, where it was a simple matter of from his lips to the governesses pen declaring them behind in their studies. 

But that was over now. Where the other governesses would never have dreamed to challenge his chosen curriculum and had seemed only too happy to declare Stefen's children stubborn little monsters unlikely to amount to much of anything, Tony had his five-year-old reading in French and his fourteen-year-old building a transmitter radio.

Steve was torn between wanting to ring the man’s neck sometimes and kissing him senseless. He was so brilliantly, vexingly much.

Tony had come into his office, wanting to talk about scheduling a time for the state examiner to come out and give Péter the exam so he could begin his secondary education at a public college in September.

"Their last tutor must have been a joke Captain, because all of your children are too smart for their own good. If there was some doubt in their aptitude I'm confident the teacher and not the pupils were at fault." Tony insisted, striking far too close to the truth for Steve's comfort.

He could not allow Péter to go to public school and had never intended to allow it. Especially not now that Schmidt was closing in and Steve was scrambling to come up with some new way to keep Péter out of the General's hands; but of course Tony had not liked to hear his protests, going on about how smart the boy was (as if Steve did not know). 

When Tony had blurted out that his son had helped the monk build a working radio from scraps up in the attic, he'd been shocked and demanded to see it (in part hoping that the trip would distract Tony from the conversation for the time being).

He'd expected to find that they'd gutted one of the old house sets and propped it up for imagination's sake, but the device sitting on a table full of cannibalized parts was nothing close to the frankinstinian object of his imaginings. It was for all appearances a military grade transmitter radio, the kind one might find on a naval ship.

It was sleek and compact in comparison to the big boxy units Steve had seen on occasion during his service. The receiver and preselector panels were fashioned from aluminum with a matte-chromium finish and the receiver case was copper-plated steel, along with the sturdy feet at the base. One look at it was enough to tell Steve that Tony must have spent the bulk of his wages on the materials.

"We have it so the preselector reduces regenerative signal radiation to the antenna, in addition to increasing sensitivity and selectivity," Tony was explaining with nervous hope as he turned the black dials, static crackling in the headset he'd given Steve to wear.

They both heard the sound of the door to the attic stairs opening, but Steve was loath to turn away from the machine for even the second it took to answer Bucky's shout for his whereabouts.

"Which mean's what exactly?" Steve asked once he heard Bucky clomping up the stairs. He wanted to see if it would work almost as badly as Tony seemed to want to show him. Anybody could get their hands on one of the cheap People's Receivers that were manufactured around the country but a military grade radio with a transmitter was not so easily come by.

There were so many things his team could do with a working two way radio. Smuggling them away from the military always came with risks he'd be happy for the men in his network not to have to take.

"Which means that it should be able to pick up even the weakest signal, miles out." Tony answered, fiddling with the dials and almost on cue, the receivers in Stefen's ears crackled, and then a smooth voice was reading off a weather report. In English.

"My God." Steve gaped, and not because a London broadcast which was outlawed, but because it was pouring into his ears, clear as a bell. Tony's mouth split into a wide grin of triumph and Steve just stared at him in dumb shock.

Tony had built this, in his home, with salvaged parts.

"Where the hell did you get a radio?" Steve jerked at the sound of Bucky's loud voice. Somehow he'd forgotten the man was on his way up and hadn't heard him step so close with the headset on.

"Péter and I built it." Tony answered almost hesitantly and Bucky scoffed.

"Pull the other one. Himmler himself doesn't have a piece this slick." Bucky said, pulling the headset off of Steve's head without so much as asking and placed the speaker to his ear. His eyes went round and remembering the voice speaking in English Steve tensed.

"Fuck me. Is that London?!"

"Of course, there's no way to stop it from picking up foreign frequencies and the like." Tony quickly turned the dial so the transmission went silent.

Steve took control of the situation by grabbing the headset away from Bucky and handing it back to Tony.

"It's very impressive Stark, but I'm afraid people might get the wrong idea if they knew it was here."

"Wrong idea?" Bucky snorted. "They'd accuse you of rebel activity as soon as they saw it."

Stark looked pale and Steve glared at Bucky in warning.

"Nobody here is a rebel." Turning back to Tony he infused his words with confidence and command. "Nevertheless, it will stay up here and no one is to speak of it again. Make sure Péter understands."

"But-" Tony, true to his nature had opened his mouth to argue but Steve wasn't going to have it this time.

"I have nothing more to say on it Tony." Steve overrode his objection with a stern stare until the monk had closed his mouth again with a frustrated snap, understanding that the subject was closed. But of course, the monk wasn't finished. Tony never was.

"God knows, we wouldn't want anyone to think this was a house harboring rebellion." Tony stared poignantly at him, completely unflinching.

When Tony was agitated, his eyes tended to get this sharp look about them, until they got almost as cutting as Steve knew that his tongue could. In a strange way, he enjoyed that about Tony. The constant pushback, the underlining challenge in almost every interaction that made Steve long for a moment of sure privacy because he'd like to know if Tony could keep pushing that smart mouth of his going with Steve's hands on him. He thought not.

Tony was still staring at him, the air between them charged, but there was a different heat in his eyes now. Steve took a slow breath as Bucky grumbled lowly beside him.

"Unbelievable." He clapped a hand on Steve's shoulder and aggressively turned him toward the door saying, loud enough for Tony's benefit, "Now that that's settled I need to have a word with Stefen. Bye Stark."

Bucky practically slammed the attic door behind them and marched down the stairs like a herd of elephants. He was annoyed about something but then again he was often annoyed when it came to Stark so Steve was resolved to just let him stew. In many ways, Steve understood that stewing about the subject of Stark was just easier for Bucky than some others.

"I just got off the phone with Jann, she's heard from Susann." Bucky announced as soon as they were cloistered in the privacy of Steve's room and Steve's breath hitched.

"Why didn't you tell me-" Steve began to demand but a solid punch in the shoulder cut him short as Bucky growled at him.

"I looked all over for you asshole, nobody had any idea you were lurking in the fucking attic listening to illegal broadcasts."

"Well what did Susann want? Is there something wrong with the twins?"

"She couldn't say for sure Stefen, not when we don't know if the lines have been tapped."

"But if Susann called at all it has to mean something went wrong Bucky. What-"

"I'm getting there Stevie, Jesus, give a fellow a minute to get a word in will ya!"

Steve sucked in a harsh breath and backed up, throwing his hands up in surrender because he knew better than to try and keep pushing when Bucky was this worked up. Whatever was going on it must be bad.

Pacing the floor Bucky halted in front of the writing desk in the corner and just before Steve's patience was about to snap he finally said, "She said Jonny came for tea the other day and that Frank misses playing with kids his own age. Susann wants to send him up the river."

Fear for Susann jolted through Steve at the words. Jonny coming for tea was their code for if any officials came to question her or seemed suspicious of her involvement in the escape of the Lehnsherr  twins. Sending her son Frank up the river was code for immediate intervention. The twins needed to be moved as soon as they could move them and Susann needed to get out of Austria.

"How did they know?" Steve wondered aloud. They'd been so careful. The handoff had gone without a hitch. "Could someone on the crew be a spy?"

"Kirk's a good man and he runs a tight ship but anything's possible in these times," Bucky shrugged with a dark scowl. "This isn't the first run he's made for us that has gone sour either."

"Both times in Vienna," Steve mused aloud, the pieces coming together in his mind as he franticly thought of a way out of the danger they were in. "It's the port they're watching. If someone saw the drop off they know they're looking for a woman. From there it only makes sense to question Richter’s wife."

"Damn." Bucky cursed, running his hand through his hair. "We've got to get them out of there Stevie."

"Susann has the means to get herself and Frank to London. The borders aren't closed and there's no warrant out for her arrest."

"Yet." Bucky grumbled and Steve nodded gravely.

"If we can't risk using the port the twins will have to come here until we have another way to get them to safety."

"Here!" Bucky immediately whirled on him. "How in God's name are you going to explain them coming here? The staff will-"

"Damn the staff, Bucky!"Steve snapped, already weary of the long argument ahead of him and in no mood for it.  "Say they're orphans. Say they're your long lost bastards! Say whatever you like, just do it without running your damn mouth!"

Bucky could be as sour as he liked about Steve's friendship with Stark, but he was not going to let his dark mood interfere with the mission. If something happened to the twins or to Susann on Steve's watch he wouldn't be able to live with it.

"I'd cram my fist down your throat for that, if I wasn't so happy to hear you speak in Romany again." Bucky drawled in their native tongue with an indolent smile and Steve started, glancing around as if he expected to find someone else in the room, but of course Bucky was still talking to him and that meant he had to have just been shouting at his best friend in Romany.

Steve couldn't keep slipping like this, and it seemed to be happening more and more often. What the hell had he been thinking? But of course he hadn't been. Bucky could just get under his skin sometimes, he'd strangle the bastard if he could imagine life without him. Snickering at him Bucky punched his shoulder, playfully this time, and slung his arm around Steve.

"It makes me happy to see you lose your mind Stevie," he said with a chuckle, still in Romany. "Makes me feel less alone. I'll speak to Jann. She'll get the twins here, but what will we do then?"

 "I don't know Buck," Steve sighed. "But a way will present itself. It always does."

"That radio could be useful." Bucky retorted in a sly sort of way and Steve's shoulders tensed. Even though he'd thought the same thing, he didn't see a way to use it without raising Tony's suspicions. When he said as much Bucky rolled his eyes at him.

"I saw that little dance upstairs same as you. Maybe clearer. He already suspects."

"He can suspect what he likes, but there's safety in ignorance and you know that Bucky."

"Safety? That damn radio could save lives. He's a grown man Stefen, he can make his own choices same as you and me. He might have just as much reason to want to fight these bastards as you do. Are you going to wrap him up in blankets like he's one of your children?"

Bucky waited for a response but when Steve offered him none his eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in anger.

"Christ you are! What is he too delicate or something? You afraid your fairy might have to take a bullet like the rest of-"

"Shut up." Steve growled, grabbing Bucky by the collar roughly until the man had silenced. If they had been boys again, knocking each other around in the back of the caravan Bucky might have taken a swing at him, but they weren't those boys anymore. There was war behind both their eyes, and the violence that slept there was not as tightly caged as either of them would have liked and not nearly so tame as it had once been.

"Alright. Fuck. Just let go of me. I hate that I can't shove your head in a bush anymore when you get too big for yourself."

Steve let him go, the anger that had gripped him already crumbling in the wake of memory and the absurd desire to poke his tongue out at his old friend.

"Just remember that I'm plenty big enough to shove you now."

He knew that Bucky was sorry to have pushed him so far but Steve didn't expect him to say it. But it was the nature of having bled for one another so many times before, that Steve didn't really need him to either.

 

~*~*~*~

  
_It is necessary to establish the racial affinity of every Gypsy living in Germany and of every vagrant living a Gypsy-like existence. I therefore decree that all settled and non-settled Gypsies, and also all vagrants living a Gypsy-like existence, are to be registered with the Reich Criminal Police Office [Reich Central Office for Combating the Gypsy Nuisance]. The police authorities will report all persons who by virtue of their looks and appearance, customs or habits, are to be regarded as Gypsies or part-Gypsies... Although the principle that the German nation respects the national identity of alien peoples is also assumed in combating the Gypsy nuisance, nonetheless the aim of measures taken by the State to defend the homogeneity of the German nation must be the physical separation of Gypsydom from the German nation, the prevention of miscegenation, and finally, the regulation of the way of life of pure and part-Gypsies. The necessary legal foundation can only be created through a Gypsy Law which prevents further intermingling of blood, and which regulates all the most pressing questions which go together with the existence of Gypsies in the living space of the German nation. --_ SS. Chief Himmler’s Circular of December 8, 1938"

~*~

In a house this size it was unusual for the staff, especially the cook, to receive the night off but that seemed to be the case that night. Most unusually, not a single person better equipped to scrub floors and run a bath for a grubby little boy seemed to be around when Tony needed them most. Not even the damned cook! Even Pepper had been unusually hard to find and since Tony refused to whistle for her like a hound, when she did appear it was to find Tony painstakingly making his way through the kitchen carrying a full slop bucket.

"The captain has given the rest of the staff the night off. It's just Harold and I." she explained succinctly, seemingly unaffected by Tony’s unusual dark mood. She seemed distracted by something, her mind deep in thought even as her body continued about its work, moving to open the back door for him so he could empty out the bucket.

"Willamina set aside some cold cuts this morning for our dinner so we won’t go hungry."

Tony poured the dirty water onto the bare patch of dirt just outside the kitchen door, sighing at his ill luck that the servants would have the day off the exact Saturday that Artur and three of his siblings to come up with the idea to try and make bricks out of mud because they all wanted to be stone masons.  
Of course, Stefen had offered neither real explanation for the phenomenon nor help.

He had told Tony that running after four children with rags and a water bucket was character building with a seriousness that might have broken a lesser man; except that Tony had Rogers measure now, and he knew when he was being played with.

It was altogether too easy to get lost in these games with the Captain, trading barbs and parrying wits; and allowing himself to forget the damning truth that Tony was a Jew, and Stefen a Nazi officer. He would like it if his suspicions about Stefen’s involvement in treasonous activities would prove to be true, but the evidence was at best conflicting. He couldn’t shake it out of his mind, his Nonna’s words, and the memory of watching Stefen arm his children. There was a deep aching sadness growing within him each afternoon, dressing the children into their uniforms and sending them off, each time knowing they’d come back a little less innocent, a little more confused, a little harder in their hearts.

He was angry, and even though it was unfair to be angry with Stefen when he had done his best to keep the children away from Nazi indoctrination as long as he could, when it had been Tony himself who had pushed them out into the world; there was no helping the quiet rage that simmered inside of him with nowhere to go.

"Did I overlook some holiday?" Tony asked aloud, still puzzling why Stefen would have let them all go at once and determined not to let it go unquestioned. When Pepper didn't answer he thought she must not have heard, but when he turned back into the kitchen to see her filling up a large pot for heating on the stove, he couldn't help but notice the stiff way she held herself, or the tightness of her lips as the poignant silence stretched.

Tony's eyes narrowed on her but at that moment the bell for the front door chimed.

"Oh Tony, could you run and get that please? I have to get the meat out of the icebox."  
And while Tony knew she was seizing the distraction that had presented itself, he also knew how to bide his time.

"For you Pep, anything, but don't tell Hammer you had the monk answering the door or he's liable to have kittens."

There weren't many visitors besides the milk man and the boy from the post who made the journey this far out from the city proper, and being that it was Saturday evening and the milk man had already been round that morning, Tony was fully expecting to find the boy from the Post Office with a telegram.

Instead, miss Janneke VanDyne was standing on the front steps in a brightly colored frock, her dark hair covered by a thin wispy scarf to keep the breeze at bay. She was not alone either. There were two children, a boy and a girl, at her side. If Tony had to guess, he would have said they were roughly around thirteen or fourteen years of age.

They were dressed simply in the kind of clothing any school aged child would wear, but the sight they made still struck Tony as wrong somehow. It was the way their clothing hung off their bodies, their thin faces betraying the poor diets that their nice attire tried to hide. It was not the nature of their times to be forgiving of dark features, and the children had a distinctly Slavic look about them.

"Herr Stark!" Jann greeted Tony with a bright smile, leaning in to pepper his cheeks with kisses in the non-German fashion that reminded Tony warmly for a moment of his mother. "How wonderful to see you again. But you look surprised to see us."

"Indeed, I am Frauline Van Dynne." Tony stepped back to invite them inside and stared curiously between the woman and her two companions once they’d stepped into the front hall.

"Are these your children?" He knew they weren't. Even if their very different features could have been explained away, the life of a monk led one to witnessing many states of human desperation.

Tony had seen the starving, the ill, and the derelict up close. He'd fed hungry mouths, and prayed over dying bodies because they'd begged it of him, and had tried for their sakes to ignore the painful ache in his heart wrought from disbelief.

He knew that haunted look in the eye that said a body had seen the worst that the world had to offer.

Almost better than he knew anything else.

"Oh goodness no. That's so like James isn't it? Not to give warning that we were coming." Jann said in a fluttery way, releasing her hair from the scarf she wore and shaking out the black tresses before turning to help the children with their knapsacks.

"This is Péter Maximoff and his sister Anya. They're part of a new act James is putting together. I'm sure he must have -"

Jann stopped in the middle of her explanation as the man himself appeared at the end of the hall with the captain at his side. Both men paused in their walk, brief flickers of surprise passing over their expressions and Stefen wordlessly fished for the whistle in his pocket and raised it to his lips, signaling for Pepper.

"Jann!" Bakhuizen greeted their guest as he and the captain hurried to meet them.

"Hello James. I'm sorry we're so early, but I've been asked to do a last minute performance and I really must be on my way. I had to bring them now." Janneke rushed to explain as she greeted both Bakhuizen and Rogers with light kisses.

"Don't be ridiculous." Stefen said, voice more intense than the conversation seemed to warrant as he gripped the woman's elbow. "We can't send you back out on the road. Stay and eat something."

An unspoken conversation seemed to pass between the two for a long moment before she shook her head and politely declined, reaching for the door.

"I have to run, but you mustn't worry for me Captain. I am hardier than I look. I will see you all again soon."

She turned in a swirl of skirts, gone almost as quickly as she'd arrived and Tony could only blink at the closing door behind her.

As soon as she was gone the boy Péter grabbed his sister’s elbow and backed away from the remaining adults, talking fast in a stream of foreign words. The sight was like a kick to the stomach, the children's obvious terror at being left with strangers discomforting.

He was so focused on their fear that he almost did not recognize that the boy was speaking the same language that Stefen and Bakhuizen whispered in when they thought no one was paying attention. The very same language Stefen had spoken to him the night Tony had tried to waken him from a nightmare and Steve had struck him.

Keeping his face as guileless as possible Tony turned to Stefen and asked, "They're like you?"  
By the shell-shocked expressions in the room you'd think Tony had fired a loaded gun.

"Polish I mean?" He smiled winsomely at Stefen, who nodded slowly, suspicion flashing through his eyes.

Damn him, Tony thought, damn his secrets and his giant wall of contradictions. If he had any idea what

Tony risked by staying here, what he would yet risk if Stefen would only trust enough to ask.

"Ukrainian." Bakhuizen clapped a hand each on the children's shoulders and squeezed them just as Pepper appeared, her eyes sweeping over the scene that met her but betraying nothing as she came to halt before the captain.

“Virginia, do you have a room ready for them?”

“Yes Captain, “at her nod, Stefen turned to Anya and Péter.

“Children this is Frau Hogan, my head of house. She’ll take you up to your room.”

Tony’s brow arched in surprise. He’d been distracted with the children most of the day but he’d not observed Pepper airing out any of the spare rooms and it was a big job for a single person alone.  
Anya and Péter shared wide eyed looks of fright and Tony wondered if they’d even understood the Captain’s words. Péter clutched his sister’s hands tightly and drew her backward and Pepper’s eyes flew to the captain anxiously.

Slowly Stefen stepped closer and kneeled down in front of the pair, so that he was no longer towering above them and Tony watched as he spoke quietly to them in what Tony was only sure wasn’t polish. Personally he doubted it was Ukrainian either, if only because being heir to a ship building empire meant that he’d been schooled so that he could converse with most of the major powers in Europe.

While Tony could hear a certain similarity to the Russian language in the words that Steve was speaking lowly and urgently to their unexpected visitors, they were definitely not close enough to be Ukrainian. He kept that knowledge to himself for the time being as Steve got back to his feet and gently nudged the young pair towards Pepper.

“How long are they to be here Captain?” Tony asked politely, almost expecting the stiff way that Stefen replied.

“I'm not certain. Until other arrangements can be made.”

“I see. And will they be joining the children and I at their lessons?” Tony asked, expecting that they would because there was hardly anything for two young people to get up to during the day besides schoolwork.

“No.” The short almost brusque reply took Tony by surprise. "You've misunderstood me, Stark. They won't be here as long as that."

To say that Tony had questions about the contradiction in the captain’s words or the strange circumstances that had led to the arrival of their guests was an understatement, but Stefen's tone did not invite further inquiry and challenging him in the front hall in front of his staff was no sound strategy.

And when one was minding seven children of various ages already, it didn't leave a lot of time between demands. Tony had left the boys too long unattended it seemed because at just that moment a thump came from overhead, startling those gathered below as their eyes flew upward, drawn to the sound of heavy footsteps and raised voices.

"… give it here, James. I was using it first!" What sounded like Artur's shrieking was followed by an alarming crash and ominous silence.

Tony closed his eyes and sighed.

"Better go and see what they've broken." Stefen encouraged with a sly glint in his eye and Tony opened them again to look at him, tempted to glare but unwilling to give him the satisfaction.

"As their tutor I am not obligated to mind them beyond the classroom." He reminded.

"However, as a devoted man of the cloth so driven by compassion, I am confident you will find it within you somehow." Stefen far too confidently returned. He motioned toward Pepper who nodded a quick acknowledgment before sheparding Péter and Anya away. They still looked frightened but this time both followed without complaint.

"My compassion for your children Captain is all that keeps me chained to my post," Tony replied sweetly.

"When the devil himself could not have proved a more vexing employer. "

With a warning look that the discussion would be returned to, Tony turned on his heel and strode for the stairs. Questioning Stefen would keep long enough to keep his youngest boys from bringing the house down around their heads. News of their visitors ought to spark their curiosity enough to finish getting dressed in a timely manner Tony thought.

He was right, as soon as James and Artur heard the news of another boy and girl in residence they rushed to clean up the broken wash stand and change into their dinner attire. Tony went to go check on Maria and Sara, the remaining two in his group of expert brick layers, and was gratified to see that they'd managed to get themselves scrubbed fresh and that Natacha was helping dry and brush their hair.

"Tony is it true?" Maria asked eagerly almost as soon as he walked through the door. "Natacha says there are children downstairs! Are they really professional singers?"

Tony blinked in surprise at the rapid fire questions but recovered quickly, arching a brow suspiciously at Natacha.

"I have no idea how your sister knows that but yes, and if your uncle is to believed then yes again."

Her eyes, wide with delight, turned bright with yearning.

"Why can't we go on tour with Uncle Bucky?"

"It's not proper for young women to take to the stage." Natacha chastised gently and Tony's frown deepened as her eyes met his, their blue cool and sharp . "Your true work lies at home."

Tony's mouth tightened but he kept silent on that particular subject because he knew the battle would not be won with words. Not with how heavily emphasized a woman's role was in the BDM. Natacha was too smart not to know the consequences of rebellion. Maria on the other hand was still just five and still primarily concerned with dreams. Tony wouldn't have had it any other way.

"But there's nothing wrong with singing! Can't you talk to father?" The child pouted up at Tony. "He listens to you."

Before Tony could answer her, Natacha's brush paused in Maria's long dark tresses and the girl asked with her usual directness, "Do you really think James is lying about who they are?"

Tony frowned, eyes flicking to Maria and back, choosing his words carefully.

"I didn't say that," he went with in place of lying, because really there was enough of that going around already. "And while I'm happy to allow you to use my given name, I'm not sure your uncle would be as appreciative or that your father would approve."

To his surprise Natacha shrugged her shoulders, something graceful about the motion but as unaffected as her tone as she replied, "He is only a year or two older than father, and father was not much older than I am when he met my mother."

"That is..." Tony, most unusually, found himself at a loss for words and wholly uncomfortable. He had no idea how they'd gotten from the subject of Bakhuizen onto marriage but he did not like it.

"… entirely not the point." He finished lamely and Natacha, finishing brushing out the snarls in her sister's hair, quickly set about braiding it, her nimble fingers practically flying as she answered him.

"It is. Yesterday, Frauline Werner had all the girls in our group line up. She measured us and took notes, then she had Sophie and me stand at the front. She had the girls point out our genetic strengths and weaknesses. Sophie's hair is blond and fine but her eyes are brown. My eyes are blue, like Father's, and my hair is red like the first Germans. My waist is perfect for child bearing but Sophie is too skinny for bearing healthy children."

Natacha paused reaching on the vanity for one of the plain ribbons set off to the side, in order to tie the ends of Maria's hair. When she was finished she smiled at her younger sister and gave her an encouraging pat. She watched Maria grab Sara's waiting hand and run off toward their dinner before looking back up at Tony with the kind of sobriety that had no place on the face of someone so young.

"When I am Péter's age and done with my primary schooling, I could take the exam in order to go on with my schooling but would it be right? We were told, a true German woman knows she is not to be like those prideful women who try and compete with men. The future of our nation depends on our careful selection of only the best sort of mate and our dedication to motherhood. We will turn our attention to where it belongs. The noble pursuit of motherhood. "

Tony swallowed back the violent urge to protest. She'd made her point, she was not a child any longer, but that very fact only made Tony want to howl with outrage and beat at strangers.

"Is that it?" Tony bit out through the tightness in his throat "Is that really all you want?"  
He knew it wasn't. They both knew it wasn't. His anger made him lash out, made him want to see that impenetrable mask of calm that had settled over the girls face in the passing weeks, crack and crumble; but the girl was unshaken. If anything there was a glimmer of pity in her eyes when she replied.

"I don’t think it matters very much what either of us want Tony." Primly she smoothed the wrinkles out of her skirt and headed for the door, lingering only a moment once she reached it to turn back to him, a familiar sly glint entering her eye.

  
"But so you know, I have nothing at all against getting married when I am finished with my schooling. And if it is my womanly duty to find only the best, well then I am determined to do exactly that."

 

*~**~*

 

Tony did not get the opportunity to question Steve over dinner like he'd hoped, nor to find out anything further about their visitors because the whole night just seemed to be proceeding strangely. Pepper served them an uninspired if filling dinner of cold cuts and informed Bakhuizen - much to the children's disappointment - that his guests had chosen to eat in their room due to exhaustion from their long travels.

Péter had been late to dinner which had earned him a dressing down from the captain and Péter had shown an unusual (but not wholly surprising) amount of belligerence that had threatened to escalate what was essentially a minor event into something far worse. Bakhuizen had tried to diffuse the tension by recalling that he and the captain had never had a curfew and would have broken it if they had.

"If I wanted my son making all my mistakes, I'd be a fool Bucky." Stefen grumbled, reaching for the abandoned paper at the edge of his plate. He looked back at Péter who was staring back mulishly, lips clamped together tightly. "Where were you all day?"

"Studying." The boy snapped, taking a vicious bite off the end of his fork. Tony suppressed a sigh. Stefen couldn't just let it go, could he?

"It's Saturday." Stefen pointed out, undeterred and Péter chewed vigorously and swallowed before answering.

"And yet I was studying."

"Watch that cheek, and I won't ask you again Péter. Where were you?"

"I was at the library with Bobby and Johann."

Ian sat up, suddenly very alert in his chair, dropping his knife with a resounding clatter that startled the table so keenly caught on the unfolding drama.

"Is there something the matter Ian?" Stefen turned to the younger boy to snap in exasperation and Tony winced.

Ian flushed with embarrassment but his eyes flicked between Péter and their father with indecision. He knew something, Tony realized.

"No Father, it's just that -"

But whatever Ian would have confessed Péter didn't let him finish, pushing back his chair with a violent scrape against the floor as he stood up to growl.

"No matter what I do it won't be enough for you. Well I do not care what you think anymore! I'm not a child damn you. I will do as I like!"

Tony's body coiled tight, ready to leap up as Stefen abruptly stood, his chair nearly toppling to the floor as he strode toward the boy. He did not yell as Tony remembered his own father doing on so many occasions. There was no bluster, no panting and heaving with breathless fury; but there was no mistaking the thud of each step, the predatory swiftness of each movement, nor the glint in Stefen's eyes as anything less than dangerous fury.

His heart hammering within his chest Tony was certain the captain meant to strike the boy and he had the fleeting thought to jump between them, but quickly discarded the thought as foolish. One did not jump between a charging bull and the cloak. Better to take the cloak away from foolish matador.

Péter seemed to shrink as his father bore down on him, realizing too late how woefully unprepared he was for the consequences of his words and Tony felt a stab of pity for him. The boy had earned it, but there were always those who took it too far and they all knew the captain's temper. The trouble with having war under your skin was never knowing when and where it might erupt and Tony was very afraid that Péter was about to find himself in the line of fire.

But as quickly as the rapid thoughts passed through his mind, Stefen had halted toe to toe with his son and the room had gone still with Tony frozen halfway out of his seat.

With Stefen towering over him the way he was, it was almost comical how young fourteen suddenly appeared. Still a child in too many ways, Tony thought with a miserable pang, but on its heels, was the bitter acceptance that Péter was no more in a child's world than Natasha was.

Stefen was so still that it didn't even look as if he were breathing. It was almost a marvel, how close the violence in him had come to the surface, only held back by the iron grip of his will.

It was painfully silent for a long moment before Stefen calmly said, in a low forceful tone that would be nothing but obeyed. "You are my son. And as long as you're that, you'll do as I say. Am I understood?"

"Yes." Came the boy's mumbled reply, his head hung low, and Tony tensed once more as Stefen grabbed the boy by the chin and forced their eyes to meet, prompting in the same dangerously calm way.

"Yes?"

"Yes Sir." Péter snapped back, louder, blinking back frustrated tears.

“That's better. Go up to your room. We’ll discuss this later.”

Wordlessly Péter turned and fled from the room, but Tony only relaxed once the captain had returned to his seat. He’d not been sure he would, because once there was a time when Stefen would have stormed away, leaving the other children in the wake of his dark bursts of temper. Tony was grateful for Stefen’s restraint, but perhaps doubly so for whatever made him stay.

“Oh dear.” On Tony’s left Sara whined softly in distress.

“Yes, that was naughty of Péter wasn't it?” Tony murmured, stroking the top of her head and she leaned into the touch, seeking comfort. On his left Maria had also leaned in, one small hand reaching to clutch onto his arm as if for support as she turned eyes laden with worry toward her father at the head of the table.

“Father, you’re not going to beat Péter are you?” Maria asked fearfully.  Stefen’s face shuttered and Maria turned to Tony, gripping him tighter. “He isn’t is he, like what happened to the poor boy in our book?”

“Your father will see to Péter's punishment and it's nothing for you to worry about bambina,” Tony quickly reassured her, laying his free hand over her small one. Catching the captain’s eye he added, “Unlike many of the wicked child minders we have read about, your father is a fair and just man who loves you all very dearly. Even when you are in the wrong.”

Relief flashed through the captain’s eyes at the words, as if he were a sinner at the foot of a priest receiving grace. In a strange way perhaps that wasn’t far off the mark, Tony thought with some amusement. He was a monk after all.

“He shouldn’t have talked to Vati like that.” Artur mumbled around the fingers in his mouth, looking almost shyly toward his father for approval. Stefen nodded in agreement if somewhat shortly as he responded with an admirable level of gentleness.

“No, he should not have.”

“I’ll say.” Bakhuizen grumbled, not altogether helpfully. “Boy must have lost his mind. Our fathers would have knocked our teeth out for cussing at them.”

“We are better men than our fathers.” Stefen snapped, irritably clenching his cutlery with dangerous force. Tony could see the tension in him, like a rope pulled to tight in danger of snapping. Still, Stefen did his best to maintain control.

“Let's talk no more of it. I shall settle it with Péter in the morning.”

Though he avoided every eye trained on him at the table he couldn't seem to help glancing up at Tony and when their eyes met there was a plea in them, though whether for help or forgiveness was hard to determine.

Perhaps just mercy Tony decided, his chest tightening with pity he knew better than to let Stefen see.

“Johann picks on him.” Ian announced into the silence, deliberately ignoring the hot warning glare Natacha shot him. “If something happened, I think he would be too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Good thing he has you then.” his sister muttered darkly and Ian grit his teeth mulishly but didn't rise to the bait.

Stefen opened his mouth but before he could speak Tony interjected with breezy confidence ill-suited to the gloomy mood of the table, but in his mind all the more necessary for that.

“Yes, a very good thing. Minding your brother is a virtue as old as Cain and Able. It's the brother who doesn't mind that you have to watch out for.” Stefen was looking at him as if Tony were some sort of miracle happening right before his eyes and Tony felt his mouth soften into a smile. He winked at him before going on.

“I imagine that Ian is right, it would be very embarrassing for a boy to admit to his father that he is being picked on. He should not have lost his temper, but if Péter is having troubles then we shall all just have to forgive him I suppose and do our very best to help your father remind him that he can always rely on his family. Wouldn't you agree Captain?”

There was so much that Tony wanted to say to Stefen. How he wished they could be open with each other and talk about what was developing between them. How he wished that Stefen trusted him, knowing that Tony would never willingly betray him. How he wished he was at all certain that Stefen’s feelings, whatever their extent, would not alter if he learned the truth of who Tony was.

Would those same eyes, staring at him now with such open affection, regard him then with revulsion?

It was Tony’s great shame, knowing that even if he was horribly wrong in all his hopes, that his own feelings would not change even if that came to be. He would go to his grave hating the Nazis and all that they stood for, but he’d never be able to forget Stefen or deny what he’d felt. This man he’d seen in all his barest… he simply could not turn his heart away from. So that even though he might be betrayed by it, even though it might be his very undoing, he still wished he could say the words that had driven his mother to his father’s side. The confession of Ruth.

Entreat me not to leave thee.

“I do.” Stefen murmured in reply and in his eyes there was a wealth of gratitude and something even sweeter, something magnetic, though Tony didn’t dare go so far as to try and name it. That was folly for a different day.

~*~*~*~

 

With their visitors forgotten in the drama and sitting up with Péter and his brothers to do further damage control, it wasn’t until morning that Tony thought of their visitors again.

He arrived later than usual to breakfast, unsurprised to find that Bakhuizen and the captain were already settled with the children, the captain perusing the morning paper with the same constipated expression that he always reserved for that mornings dose of fear mongering and government issued propaganda. Tony didn’t know why he bothered with it at all, if it put him in such a bad mood but he supposed a man of Stefen’s station felt he needed to stay informed. Tony reserved the right to tease him about it anyway.

“Good morning everyone. By your expression, Captain I can only assume we’ve been invaded by the Russians and must resign ourselves to allegiance with the Motherland.” Tony took a seat in his usual spot, all breezy chatter and cheeky grin as he asked, “Or is it Mussolini, reclaiming more of what the Hapsburgs took. Are we all to be Italians?”

The children snickered, muffling the sounds of their mirth with spoonful’s of under their father’s reproachful gaze.

“That mouth of yours is going to get you arrested Stark.” He warned darkly before sighing and folding the paper to toss aside as if he couldn’t stand the sight of it any longer. “They’re tightening the curfew again. No one out after dark without stamped papers. Apparently, the revolutionaries struck again last night and pose a public danger.”

“Those X-men?” Bakhuizen asked, craning his neck to read the headline upside down. He was referring to the group of revolutionaries who went around defacing public property and leaving anti-nazi news leaflets for public consumption, full of scandalous rumors about government practices and urging public resistance.  No one knew who they were or how large the group was but their signature red X painted over buildings and signs had been spotted in cities large and small from here to Vienna.

“They’re harmless.” Tony wondered how Bakhuizen was so certain of this but kept that thought to himself.

“I happen to agree with you Bucky but I don’t think the police care.” Stefen drawled. “They’ve offered a reward for anyone with information about them and have placed restrictions on selling paint. They intend to catch them, and I have it on good authority that when they do they’ll be made examples of through torture and execution. I -”

But Stefen stopped, concerned by the sudden sound of choking coming from Péter who had turned red in the face and was coughing harshly into his hands, Natacha frowning at him as she patted his back to try and knock loose the food that had gotten lodged in his throat.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked when the coughing had subsided. Péter nodded, mumbling something about having swallowed wrong and busying himself with a glass of water.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best topic over breakfast,” Stefen acknowledged ruefully.

“Torture and death? Perhaps not.” Tony drawled in reply and Stefen chuckled.

“Perhaps now is a good time to discuss your decision to turn my attic into a radio station?”

“He’s seen the radio?” Péter asked hesitantly, looking up again for the first time and Tony nodded. Looking hopefully toward Stefen the boy asked haltingly. "What do you think?"

“It is an impressive invention, but I can’t permit either of you to use it. In fact I think it’s best if both of you refrain from going up there at all in the future.” Stefen began. Péter breathed a sound of protest but it was quickly quelled by the steeling of his father’s expression. “It could lead people to a very dangerous conclusion. No one is to go up there and none of you are to mention any knowledge of it. Understood?”

A chorus of obedient ‘yes fathers’ followed and silence descended over the table once more.

“Where are your Ukrainian singers?” Tony asked Bakhuizen as a way to divert the topic, surprised that they had not woken to join the table yet. He was not expecting the odd tension that had crept into the captain’s tone as he replied.

“They left with Harold this morning, on their way to Voggenberg.”

James let out a loud groan of dismay and pouted fiercely, “But I didn’t even get to meet them!”

“Yes.” Tony murmured, carefully scrutinizing Stefen. “Here so suddenly and yet gone so quickly. Did you even feed them before you hurried them off?”

Stefen smiled tightly at him, ignoring the underlining suspicion in the remark.

“Warmed leftovers prepared by my own two hands. I’m sure that appeals to your tender sensibilities.” A grin at the indignant sound that escaped from Tony was the only sign he gave of paying any attention to him as he then turned to James and said, “It couldn’t be helped. They had to catch the early train.”

“But why couldn’t they have stayed here?” James whined.

“It wouldn’t have been proper James.” Natacha answered promptly with an edge of rebuke that effectively silenced her younger brother. She sniffed, as if she’d caught a bad smell before muttering that she couldn’t imagine what the other girls would think if they learned their family was playing host to traveling performers.

She didn’t really care. At least Tony wanted to believe she didn’t, but if their conversation the afternoon before was anything to go by he felt confident in believing that she did not truly but her consciousness of what society expected of them prevented her from saying so. It was the rules of the game and Natacha was nothing if not good at games.

Tony really wanted to believe that this was all there was to it. That those twins had really been a pair of performers in some act of Bakhuizen’s that the Captain had shuffled through his home as quickly as possible to avoid gossip but it didn’t add up.

Natacha, who taught them dance and whom Tony was sure would shoot a pistol without flinching, did not care what the other girls thought and her father certainly didn’t, but by his silence he encouraged everyone to believe he did.

That more than anything decided for Tony that there was something going on. Something very dangerous to them all but he knew before he even tried to questioning Stefen about it would be futile.

They both had their secrets to take to their graves. But Tony couldn’t shake the bad feeling that the grave was only rushing toward them.

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

There is an old saying that the truth always outs.

In the case of Captain Rogers and the Lehnsherr Twins this unfortunately or perhaps fortunately depending on the point of view proved to be true.

August had continued its merry way, the cold wind from the mountains occasionally sweeping through in the onset of fall. The captain continued to devote his time to official matters and matters more secretive, but also to their continued delight continued to make time for small outings and moments of leisure with the Children.

The children continued their lessons as well as their mandatory hours in the German Youth programs and Tony’s evenings were split between trying to set a plan for the future, and doing his very best to arrange a path for that future to involve the eight people he was very certain he did not wish to live without. That included coming up with creative ways to combat the toxic waste they were ingesting every weekday afternoon at their programs, so needless to say, time seemed to fly by until thoughts of the strange pair of twins who had landed on their doorstep had all but faded.

He might never have thought of them again if not for the warning he had received from Farkas. Clinton had delivered it that afternoon, slipping over the garden wall and lying in wait away from Hammer for the opportune moment to jump out at Tony and the little girls, who had noticed it was falling into disarray with Sam gone and wanted to learn something of flowers while their older siblings were off at their programs.

Tony had mentioned the strange event in his report, albeit casually, and he not been surprised by the continued silence from the abbey. Although Clinton showed up faithfully to check on Tony and collect his letters, Tony rarely received anything in the form of reply.

That evening Clinton had stuck a folded piece of printed paper in Tony’s hand and whispered in French that the abbot warned him to be careful. Then he’d darted off, climbing back over the wall like the monkey he’d surely been in some past life.

The warning turned out to be a wanted poster for a Wanda and Pietro Lehnsherr, who if the poster were to be believed were a pair of anarchists, guilty of several counts of theft and assault. Strangely it was the bold screaming print in red crying _Zigeuner_ (gypsy) that seemed to be their worst offense. After all, a little petty theft and a public brawl was just a wild night down at the pub for one man and a criminal offense for another.

Gypsies Tony had thought, staring at the poster in dawning realization. Of course.

That would certainly explain why the captain had wanted to keep their arrival secret and to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Tony was no art expert but he recognized the rendering of the boy and girl on the poster as the same ones he’d met in the front hall two weeks before.

But with the Maximoff (or perhaps it was truly Lehnsherr) twins gone why had Farkas felt the need to break his silence in order to warn Tony about their true identity? Thoughts of the cryptic message had plagued Tony over dinner and into the night, keeping him from sleep.

It had started to rain that evening, one of those late summer productions full of grumbling thunder that promised a sleepless night. But when it appeared that the children would keep to their beds and would not be showing up to provide distraction, eventually Tony decided to do as he always did when sleep avoided him which was to make his way to his work station.

Previously that had been in the garage, but finding himself too often in Harold’s way he’d migrated to the attic. Which he’d been forbidden from entering now that it housed the world’s best radio (which admittedly probably really would be grounds for arrest and questioning if anyone saw it) but that night especially Tony really wasn’t feeling gracious toward the captain and figured what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

He wasn’t far from the attic stairs when he first heard it. A faint creaking followed by a small thump, not unlike a book falling or a heavy footfall, but it gave Tony pause in the dimly lit hallway, the light from his lamp making his shadow long upon the wall.

After a moment more with no return of the strange sound he thought he must have imagined it, until a particularly vigorous burst of thunder and a gust of wind caused the thin windows at the end of the hall to rattle and groan. The whimper wasn’t loud over the noise of the elements, but it was distinct and it was followed by more creaking. One of the children, realized, recognizing the sound of a child in distress. The storm must have wakened them, but what on earth had driven them to go up to the attic he had no idea.

A midnight adventure gone wrong, Tony guessed as he hurried up the stairs reaching for his pick to unlock the attic door.

But the sight that met him upon popping the lock and opening the door was not any he could have prepared himself for. The attic was dark but a small pair of windows let in the sporadic flashes of lightning that lit up the night sky.

The light from Tony's lamp cast a dim glow over the mountains of covered furniture and Tony's gaze first went to the dark shape of the transmitter radio covered in white sheet (still safe where he'd left it) but then it was drawn to the cast iron bed that had been pushed against the wall under the window where a small shape was currently huddled in its center, clutching knees to her chest and rocking herself back and forth.

At first glance Tony's first thought was that it was Maria, his heart twisted painfully at the state of her, but when he called her name and stepped toward her, the girl looked up at him with unfamiliar eyes that peered wildly out at him through a curtain of dark hair.

It was Anya Maximoff.

His heart stopped, eyes trying to make sense of the sight as the girl who shouldn't have been there raised one thin shaking hand to point accusingly in his direction.

"I won't go." Her voice had been reduced to a shrill hiss with fright, her garbled German almost intelligible. " _Na. Na_. I won't go!"

Thunder rattled the walls once and the girl shrieked, clamping her hands against the side of her head, and Tony startled; but he rushed to reach her when she flung herself over the side of the bed writhing and kicking like something possessed, screaming intelligibly now in that foreign tongue.

Gypsy. Tony's mind supplied over the fearful pounding of his heart as he reached the child who was banging her fisted hands against the floor and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Na lel, na lel! I won't go. Mama! Mama, Papa please!"

Worried that she would injure herself Tony grabbed for her, attempting to make her be still, but though he had the advantage in size and weight the girls hysteria seemed to give her an uncanny strength as she bucked beneath him.

"Anya! Anya you must stop. I won't hurt you." Tony tried, but the girl kept on kicking and thrashing as if she hadn't heard him at all.  And then a thought came to him. "Wanda! Wanda Lehnsherr stop this instant!"

The girl went suddenly silent and limp as if someone had cut her strings and Tony blinked down at her in shock.

It was only because she'd stopped screaming that he heard the warning creak of floorboards before he turned, just in time to catch the handle of the old chimney brush before it could connect with the back of his skull.

"Christ!" Tony cursed, heart pounding and palm stinging as he struggled to wrench the tool away from his attacker. The boy was strong for his slight build and quick thinking too. In a flash of movement he'd let go of his weapon to send Tony sprawling back on his ass. In seconds he had wedged himself between his sister and Tony, kicking the older man sharply in the gut with the heel of his foot to drive him further away.

"Leave us alone." The boy warned edging his sister backward until their were pressed up against the edge of the bed. "We won't go back."

"No, please I -" Tony, still catching his breath from that rather vicious kick he'd received and trying to understand what was going on, reached plaintively for the pair and halted when they flinched away from his hand. They were so terrified he felt cruel just looking at them. In the harsh shadows of the candle glow they looked ghastly thin, like a pair of ghouls with the whites of their eyes swallowing their faces.

 "I'm not here to hurt you." He tried again, voice shaking and Wanda whimpered, burying her face in her brother's arms and murmuring something lowly in German that Tony could only catch pieces of over the sounds of the storm outside.

"… not a witch. Pietro tell them! _Te_ merel muro _da, muri,_ dei." The rest was lost to Tony in foreign sounds.

"Shh, Wanda. It's alright." Peitro shifted to wrap his arms more surely around his sister's shuddering form and as he did, the sleeves of his night shirt slid downward to pool at his elbows. It was there that Tony saw on the inside of his left wrist a strange network of bruises and track marks. The skin was riddled with scars old and new , some of them barely healed. And there at the top, tattooed in black spidery ink was a series of numbers. A brand, like farmer might number his cattle.

He didn't know what those numbers meant, or why they would be there, but the sight of them sent cold creeping through Tony's veins.

"I won't leave you, not even to die. I won't leave."

Pietro rocked his sister for a moment more before his eyes met Tony's again. In them was resignation, heavy with the knowledge of something old and terrible, but brittle with defiance as he held onto his sister and muttered promises he had no certain way of keeping.

Shuddering Tony scrambled to his feet, muttering useless apologies as he backed away from the pair all but fleeing from their space and then from the attic room altogether. The door slammed behind him and he fell back against it, the strength suddenly leaving his legs.

He sucked in a couple of  deep breaths, forcing them out as he tried to think past the shock that was numbing his brain. When his heart beat had slowed and his breathing leveled, Tony found that a calm had descended over him. When he released the door handle he was surprised to see how his hands shook in light of how calm he otherwise felt. What sort of feeling could shake a man's very flesh and still leave his mind clear as the eye of a storm?

Rage, he realized as the emotion broke within him like a wave, burning brightly at the edges of his vision. 

Enough was enough.

 

~*~*~*~

Tony was rarely late for breakfast. That should have been Steve's first warning, but it happened on occasion, usually when the monk had spent his sleeping hours neck deep in one of his projects.

He wondered what room in his house Tony had commandeered this time and what that brain of his was going to spit out next.

With the garage and the attic out as options, Tony was sure to step on Herr Hammer's toes taking over one of the family rooms, Steve thought with a rueful smile.

Though his prickly butler could use a shake up or two maybe it was time to put some real thought into the problem. The house was large enough, some space could be cleared somewhere. Steve supposed if he were truly being honest, there was also the fact that the gesture would bring Tony pleasure.

Steve had been as open as he dared in expressing his desires. And while he was certain that Stark returned them; desire was all well and good but the man's feelings were harder to discern. He was not such a fool to think that he could wander down this particular avenue with his children's tutor without achieving some balance between the two. The children needed Tony and Steve would never be so selfish as to jeopardize their well being over a thing like lust.

His own feelings weren't any easier to sort out. He'd never been free to indulge in his attraction toward his own sex, let alone anything deeper. Arguably he wasn't free to do it now, except there was nothing as freeing as the knowledge of imminent death. He couldn’t be certain of when, only that it was coming and that he was determined he wouldn't go to his death denying the few things that still brought him happiness.

Tony had brought happiness and if it wasn't the poetry Peggy had been so fond of, it was enough for Steve to know that where Stark was concerned he intended to deny himself nothing. That was perhaps the good thing about Tony being male. He wouldn't care that Steve had never been good with words. But he might still appreciate a gesture or two, and if having his own designated work space would keep the monk out of trouble for five minutes it would be a worthy enough investment all around.

 "Why are you smiling like that? It's too early for smiles." Bucky grumbled as he plopped into the open seat between Natacha and James. One look at him had Steve chuckling despite himself. He didn't look to have slept well, and a portion of hair near the back was still spiking upward where his brush had missed.

James snickered at the sight of it, berry syrup beginning to dribble down his chin and Bucky made a face at him.

"What are you chortling at Chava?"

"You. And what's a chava?" James answered back with a berry tinged grin.

"It means boy, and I know a boy who needs to wipe his face." Steve drawled with a note of sternness to urge the boy to comply. James made as if he was going to wipe his face with his sleeve but a swat on the arm from Natacha made him think twice and he glowered at his sister as she thrust his napkin under his nose.

"Your hair is sticking up in the back James." She informed Bucky, still watching her younger brother closely as he begrudgingly cleaned himself up.

"You talking to me or the half-pint?" Bucky questioned, hands flying to the back of his skull to pat down the mess he found back there with a groan. "Christ."

"I don't recall your uncle giving you permission to use his given name." Steve decided to say, in regards to the unusual new habit he'd noticed. At first he'd let it go, chalking it up to Natacha's desire to feel more grown up, but Péter's bought of rebellion had left him feeling far less charitable. The fact of the matter was, neither of them were grown up yet and they should remember that.

"Oh I wouldn't father, only Frauline Werner insists that a girl my age should know how to formally address people. You have no brothers, and she insisted that to still call him uncle despite our lack of blood relation was childish. I'll admit I was very embarrassed. Though..." Natacha sighed wistfully, her blue eyes round with innocence as she turned them on Bucky, beseeching, "Though it feels wrong to call you Herr Bakhuizen, doesn't it? As if we were not as close as family? I just don't think I could get used to it, though I will if I must."

Bucky stared at her a long moment, unblinking, before shrugging and heaving a sigh. "Ah hell, let her call me by my name Stevie. It's my name isn't it?"

That was not entirely the point and Steve got the feeling that Natacha knew it, though she was too wily not to look entirely innocent as she cut away a bite of her Zwiebelkuchen. He knew he'd been played but found it hard to be angry about it. Peggy had been like that, always knowing how to play the people around her. Steve included. She'd never used her wiles for ill that Steve had known about and he could only hope that he was raising a young woman equally as good. God help them all if he wasn't.

He didn't have any longer to think about it because that was the moment when Tony finally arrived, trouble hot on his heels in the form of hurried footsteps and raised voices, including his own.

"Never you mind Hammer whether the captain is expecting them. I'll handle the captain." He heard Tony say before the man had even entered the room and Steve's mouth twitched toward a smirk.

"It looks as if our monk is in trouble again," Steve met the anxious eyes of the children and was gratified when their anxiousness gave way to mirth and curiosity as the commotion outside the doors got closer.

So Tony thought Steve could be handled. Well they would surely see wouldn't they?

"I'll have you sacked for this Stark!" Hammer was thundering as the doors burst open and Tony bustled inside the dining room. Whatever smile had been on Steve's face at that point bled away at the sight of the two teenagers that Tony was practically dragging along behind him, Hammer hot on their heels and red faced with fury.

"Oh Christ." he heard Bucky groan, and he didn't need the glance at him to know that his mouth had fallen open in shock.

"What is the meaning of this?" Steve demanded, standing up sharply, eyes flying between Hammer and Virginia who had stopped in the doorway along with Willamina and the two house maids. All of their expressions were  grim and somewhat horror struck like a crowd gathered to watch a train wreck unfold.

"Captain. Captain I'm so sorry. I have no idea where he found this trash but he wouldn't stop!" Hammer immediately launched in but Stefen's eyes were on Tony who was tightly gripping the hands of Wanda and Pietro Lehnsherr who both looked as if they wanted to flee for their lives.

"Oh Captain," Tony had the audacity to greet him as if they'd happened upon each other by chance. "You'll never believe who showed up this morning. Aren't these your newest sensations Herr Bakhuizen?"

Bucky looked quite put on the spot but he rallied quickly. "Yes. Anya, Péter. What on earth are you doing here?"

Pietro narrowed his eyes at Bucky and in Romany muttered lowly, "Wanda won't eat. She thinks you're trying to poison us like they did."

Fists tightening with fury Steve slowed his heart beat, aware of the danger they were all in and knowing he had to act quickly.

"Children, I would like to introduce you to Anya and Péter Maximoff. They work with your uncle, though no one has explained what they are doing in my dining room." This he directed at Stark along with a stare that would have cowed seasoned soldiers, but Stark remained undeterred.

"It appears that the man they were sent to stay with proved to be a black hearted lout. The children have wisely run away from him. I was in the garden when I saw them at the gate. They must have walked all the way back from Voggenberg."

"How ghastly." Maria, ever the tender hearted clasped her hands against her cheeks.

"Just look at the state of their clothes. Perfect rags," Tony clucked his tongue, eyes continuing to bore into Steve's with unconcealed judgment. "And they look as if they haven't eaten in days. Naturally we are going to take care of that."

As he spoke Tony ushered the children toward the table, gesturing toward his empty chair and frowning momentarily at the obvious predicament before turning toward Virginia in the doorway and saying, "Pepper, be a dear and bring us some extra place settings won't you?"

Virginia looked toward Stefen with apology and question, unsure what to do in light of the twins discovery now that the staff and Steve's own children had seen them.

For a moment his head was so clouded with rage it ached sharply, a threatening pulse pounding at his temple. He should have known that Tony would go poking about in the attic even if he was forbidden. Damn him!

"No. Frau Hogan, if you would kindly show them to a room upstairs. We'll have something brought to them."

"But Captain, surely you don't mean we should house them!" Hammer cried in shock.

"Only until other arrangements can be made Herr Hammer, I'm sure Bucky will have it sorted by the afternoon." Steve was trying to salvage what was left of the situation but Stark had other ideas.

"Were you aware Captain that he kept them locked in an attic like a pair of dogs, with no respite from the summer heat?" the monk asked coldly, eyes cutting into Steve. Maria gasped again and Steve wanted to flinch. He held fast, not let his eyes fall from Stark. 

"No one to make sure they were eating, no way to bathe, no one to give a damn what was happening to them." The monk continued to berate in a scathing tone. "Surely if there is a god in heaven he would beg us to show them more kindness? If he won't then I will. Stefen, if not for their sake then for the sake of your own children, I implore you to do better."

It was silent in the wake of Tony's words and Stefen wanted to scream at him, but he knew it was the shame that made him feel that way. The way Tony was looking at him struck a nerve deep inside him. It had the feeling of shame welling up like black oil seeping through his chest cavity, and along with it a rush of resentment.

Stark wanted him to do better?

He had no idea what sort of danger Steve had saved the twins from, what sort of danger they were all in now that Stark had recklessly revealed them to the entire household!

Of course Steve had not wanted to keep them locked up in his attic. But damn it all he was doing his best! But it seemed that every time he turned around there was Antony Stark, demanding better.

After another long moment Ian gently cleared his throat and said into the silence.

"They can have my bed Father. I don’t mind sharing with James."

And it said something, that James did not even put up a word of protest. His children were all watching him silently, waiting on him.

Steve took a very deep breath.

"Frau Hogan..." He began slowly, coming to a decision. He jerked his head toward the kitchen and Virginia darted away to do as Stark had suggested. His gaze settling on Pietro and Wanda he finished firmly. "Please join us. The both of you are welcome in my home. I cant apologize enough for the ordeal you’ve had."

"C-Captain -" Hammer stuttered but Steve quickly overrode his objection, wanting the situation over and dealt with.

"Herr Hammer, see to it that a room is made ready for them." At the snapped order Hammer thought better of further protest and turned sharply on his heel. Snappishly he ordered for the maids to follow him and for Willamina to get back to her work as he stomped away.

Steve saw the flash of relief in Tony's eyes, betraying the mask of confidence he wore and gritted his teeth.

"Herr Stark, you'll accompany me to my study and we shall speak privately."

Steve was gratified that even Stark did not think it wise to try and combat that sharply worded command, the monk nodding silently and scrambling to keep up with Stefen's long strides as he exited the room.

 

~*~*~*~

"Captain I – oof."

Tony grunted as the air punched out of his chest. The captain was angry, but he'd not been expecting to find the door slammed behind him and to be pressed up against it with two hundred pounds of muscle bearing down on him almost as soon as he crossed over the threshold, but there he was, nose to nose with the captain as he all but snarled, "Do you have any idea what you've done, Stark any idea!"

And it was all too much really this back and forth. This constant drum of fear with no relief.

"Yes! I'd do it again." he heard himself spit in reply. "I won't have those children frightened to death and starving themselves to spare Captain Rogers' good name!"

"Is that what you think this is about?" Stefen growled, the unforgivable edge of hurt underlining each word. Gesturing wildly toward the window he thundered, "You think I give a damn about those people?!"

Even the rage behind the words could not drown out the hurt Tony saw brimming his eyes, as if somehow in lumping Stefen together with the people outside Tony had wounded him deeply. But what reason had he given Tony to think differently? Wasn't he always doing his best to contradict any glimmer of hope Tony had that within that breast beat the heart of a good man, and that Tony hadn't in fact fallen in love with a monster?

"I don't know. I don't know whether you're coming or going. Whether you're a sinner, a saint, or the very devil himself, Stefen Rogers!" he heard a voice that sounded like his say over the rushing of blood in his ears. "But I know what you're not. And you're not one of them are you? Gypsy boy."

The grin that split Tony's features was just a bit vicious as shock shot through Stefen like a bullet, a wave of tumultuous emotions twisting over his face before instinct kicked in and he grabbed Tony's lapels, one fist raised with the threat of violence. And perhaps it was crazy, but Tony had never felt so vindicated or so recklessly wonderfully alive as he did, reaching up to grasp Captain Rogers by the jaw and yanking his mouth down over his.

Stefen made to jerk away, but it seemed to be part of some ingrained instinct that mattered little because a moment later his hand thudded against the door for balance and with a deep groan he was pushing up into Tony, his mouth opening under the assault as if he was trying to steal his next breath straight from Tony's lungs.

There was no gentleness in the kiss. It was demanding and rough, too much too quick, and it was Tony who tore his mouth away first - to preserve what wits he had left – pushing at Stefen's chest grateful when the man stumbled back enough for him to stagger away from the door and put some much needed distance between them.  

He'd well and truly damned himself now. Damned them both, but he couldn't bring himself to care and the pressure against his hip told him no tales of regret either. 

"Tell me the truth..." Tony's voice sounded a bit rough, even to his own ears but he pushed on with a heavy breath. He would have the truth now. Stefen would give him that.  

"What happened to those children?" 

The fog had cleared somewhat from Stefen's features but there was still desire brightening his eyes, giving their blue a sharp edge. For a moment, Tony thought that he might charge across the room, and he couldn't decide if he had it in him to resist. But Stefen made a beeline to the desk instead to open a decanter of liquor and pour himself a drink. Tony watched, noting the almost violent way in which he tossed the liquor down, the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. 

It was only a few desperate swallows before the captain pulled the glass away, and without breaking eye contact extended his arm to offer what remained in the glass to Tony. Wordlessly Tony accepted the offer, turning the glass so that his lips rested over the same spot that Stefen had drunk from, imagining that he could still taste Stefen lingering there just under the bolder liquor.

He shuddered as the liquor went down, though he couldn't be sure if it was from the heat of the brandy or from Stefen's eyes locked with his.

"What I am about to tell you can go no further than this room." Stefen warned, and their pact silently made, Tony lowered the glass and nodded. But Stefen did not speak right away.

He seemed to be very deep in thought as he turned toward the window, eyes looking out over the glimmering lake and beyond, to the shadow of the mountains climbing into the sky and Tony waited.

"Zigeuner. Gypsy boy." Stefen huffed after a long moment, something hateful in the sound that made Tony wince. "Do you know why I joined the army Tony?"

Tony could have made a fair guess at this stage but he wanted to hear it in Stefen's words. He shook his head and Stefen nodded, as if he'd been expecting just that answer before saying, "There is a saying among my people, 'when I die, burry me standing. I have been on my knees all my life.'

"My father was not Gypsy. He was deeply in love with Austria.  He was a poor father in many regards but he taught me to love this country. That passion probably seems strange coming from an outsider." Stefen, stared at him defiantly, swallowing back a lump of emotion and Tony held his gaze, tilting his lips in a small smile of understanding as he murmured in reply.

"Not at all. The gates of liberty are all the more precious to the man who stands outside them."

Stefen nodded slowly, blinking back the threat of emotion before soldiering on.

"I volunteered, because I couldn't spend my life on my knees. I believed an Austria for all Austrians was worth my life. I will never stop believing that." Stefen snapped, falling forward suddenly to brace his hands against the desk, the words thick with anger as his hands clenched against the dark surface of the wood.

Tony thought of Atlas, bracing himself to hold the weight of the world, as they stood in silence the both of them knowing the futility of his anger. It wasn't Tony who had used Stefen, only to turn all his hopes to dust.

Tony had never given his heart to this nation, so it wasn't his arms she lay dying in. That was a private hell for the ones who had loved her, especially so for those who had bled for her. And it seemed perfectly clear now, that Captain Rogers, man of war, would try and avenge her.

He knew who Stefen was, the realization dawned as the captain straightened once more. The anger and the anguish that had simmered under his skin only moments before buried under ice, as he turned toward Tony once more with militant professionalism.

"I am dedicated to the good of Austria. Knowing more would only endanger you so do not ask. A few months ago a German team of researchers were dispatched to the prison camp at Dachau to begin a project heavily reliant on human experimentation. Information about this project is of great interest to those who do not wish to see the German army grow any stronger than they already have. Among the scientists involved is a man named Dr. Erik Lehnsherr, a celebrated geneticist. He is father to the twins and no friend of the Reich, but his compliance with their program was forced through their captivity. That is no longer the case."

"But the poster... I thought they were gypsies." Like you seemed to scream in the silence but said once before, Tony did not tempt fate by saying the words aloud a second time. Stefen huffed a disparaging breath.

"Lehnsherr is German. The rising tensions in Germany before Hitler came to power had him retreat from the pubic and the last fifteen years or so has seen him living like a recluse on old family land. The Rom do not like outsiders, but they have been known to make expectations for those willing to allow them to camp on their land undisturbed. The rest I'm sure you can put together yourself."

Tony shrugged thinking with no small amount of irony, "nobody can resist a forbidden romance."

Stefen snorted and went on.

"Lehnsherr has powerful friends, who wish to put a stop to what is happening at Dachau but their effort was only partly successful. Their mother was fatally wounded and Lehnsherr chose to stay behind to give the twins a greater chance at escape. As for their trauma... " Stefen's voice was very grave and Tony's gut twisted with a sick feeling as Wanda and Pietro's haunted faces filled his thoughts once more and he saw again their scars and those strange numbers stamped onto their skin and shivered. "Tony I have heard many troubling things coming out of Dachau, things I know Schmidt is desperate to keep quiet. They can't be discovered here."

Right. Tony had only met General Schmidt the once but the man had left him with a cold feeling. He did not need to imagine what would happen if the twins were discovered here and Steve had his own children to think about.

"I didn't know."

"You weren't supposed to know." Stefen grumbled and the rebuke was obvious.  As far as apologies went Tony's ignorance was a poor one, in light of the tragedy he could have brought down on all their heads, but Stefen had been the one to open this door, to hide a pair of fugitives in his attic, which only said that he'd already accepted the danger and the possible consequences.

Which is what allowed Tony to stubbornly reply, "We can't put them back in the attic."

"We?" Stefen demanded with a sharply raised brow and Tony rolled his eyes.

"Captain Rogers. If there is still some confusion over my loyalties I would be happy to restate my case."

Too happy, Tony thought the taste of the man still lingering in his mouth. He could see it in Stefen's eyes that he was remembering along the same lines when that heat sparked anew.

"You made yourself quite clear." Stefen replied after a long beat, and the roughness in his voice sent a shiver up Tony's spine. Right then. So much for laying low and self preserving.

"I'll have a talk with the staff. They'll believe a wish to avoid gossip is a good enough reason to demand their silence." The captain decided and Tony nodded, the tension in his gut unclenching.

"I'll make sure the children understand not to go spreading tales about them. I presume you and Bakhuizen will be working on a way to get them to safety?" Tony asked, smirking at Stefen's hesitant pause before rolling his eyes once more and saying with a low chuckle, "That was the easy part Stefen. He's better at hiding his thoughts than you but it matters little, when I can't imagine a world where he wouldn't jaunt into the mouth of hell after you, the fool."

There was no malice behind Tony's words. How could there be, when he was standing here lips stung with kisses and tongue heavy with unspoken declarations? They were a band of fools.

Stefen's mouth split into a fleeting grin as mirth passed through his eyes almost in a flash before it bled away to a grim sort of dread that Tony understood all too well. He felt it himself all too keenly.

Hell had a wider mouth than either of them had ever expected and it was only getting wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We really hope you enjoyed this installment and hope you'll tell us what you think. So much going on! This is an Avengers story, remember we promised that? BWAHAHA well, this is the part where singing nuns and prancing children meet Avengers levels of drama and angst I'm afraid, so buckle up gang! Thoughts? Worries? Questions, predictions? You know I love to hear them all.  
> -Ti
> 
> Thank you from the bottom of my shriveled little heart for the encouraging comments the last few months. I cried tears of blood (but no, really I cried) when Ti sent me all your comments. The Marine Corps is a tough place and a kind word goes a long way. Knowing that Ti and I are able to share this world with you is a freaking delight. 
> 
> You're all lovley. Stay golden.  
> -FIOT


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The summer ends for Tony and the Rogers family. Winter is just around the corner and with it comes the ending of an era.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Terms:   
> Abwehr: German Military organization responsible for foreign and domestic intelligence.   
> Pisliskurja – (romany) Darling  
> Chavi – (romany) Girl  
> Nai man kumpania – (romany) I am without family.  
> Bitcheno Pawdel – (romany) To be deported or sent across.  
> Drabarni – (romany) Often fills the roles of healer, fortune teller, and midwife. Called the clan wise woman. She carries and passes on knowledge of how plants and other natural forces can be used to combat the unclean (primarily in relation to illness and childbirth). The Male equivalent would be “drabengro” which means medicine man.   
> Prastlo- (romany) dishonored/unclean status. *The Rom do not follow any specific religion however they place a high emphasis on what is “clean” and “not clean”.   
> Basht- (Romany) good luck  
> Mahrim- unclean spiritually, impure. A person as opposed to a status.

 

  

-1-

 

Martin Pavlok’s secretary was a strange girl. Pretty in the English fashion, but not at all some demure garden flower. She’d been actively flirting with the handyman who had come to fix the piping problem since Tony had sat down, what seemed now like ages ago. In truth there was a foul odor hanging about the little office, as if someone had upended a toilet.

To hear the glassy eyed fool chatting up the secretary tell it, the entire block was having issues with the new system. He insisted that the old offices just weren’t built with indoor plumbing in mind, but Tony rather thought that it was a poor engineer who blamed the brick and mortar for his own inability to think around them.

Not that he was an expert on plumbing, but he was fairly certain he could become one if ever given the chance. That was what he hoped to learn today, what his chances were and what kind of future they might open up to him.  All those years at St. Péter’s, he’d stopped wondering after the first decade what he would do with himself when he was free of the abbey walls because he’d stopped believing that he’d ever truly be free of them. Now, with half his life over, Tony was suddenly free. There was Austria still to leave behind, but the questions loomed before him.

Where to go. What to do.

Unbidden, the memory of the pressure of Stefen’s mouth against his returned, along with heat and taste, and Tony clenched his hands together tightly, swallowing to moisten a suddenly dry mouth. Yes yes, he knew what he would like to do, but he was unsure how to broach the subject with the captain. They’d not spoken of the kiss they’d shared since it had occurred, neither of them able to find another free moment alone and perhaps unwilling to be the first to tempt fate after hours.

Since he’d lost his mind and kissed Captain Rogers, the idea of knocking on the door of Stefen’s study after the children had been put to bed and the staff away for the night seemed too big a temptation to Tony. Enough to send his heart slamming away inside his chest like a drum at the mere thought of it.

But they must talk, sooner or later. And when they did, Tony rather thought the Captain would put an end to what was growing between them for good, as he would be wise to do. Still, Tony couldn’t say he wasn’t holding on to the sweet hope of promise he’d glimpsed in Stefen’s eyes when he’d begged Tony to attend that dinner in Berlin with him (when he’d promised that Tony could do or see whatever he wanted, have whatever pleased him). The same promise he’d seen again in every hungry stare Tony had caught pinned on him from across a table or a room since they’d shared that damnably short kiss.

“Fraulein Darcy, has my one o’clock arrived yet? It’s nearing quarter after.”

Tony jerked violently out of his fantasies as Pavlok’s office door swished suddenly open, and the skinny solicitor stepped halfway out into the reception room, his disgruntled scowl melting into an expression of startled surprise as Tony stood from his seat.

“Ah Herr Stark! Sorry to keep you waiting, I was not aware that you’d arrived.”

Pavlok tossed a peevish glance in the direction of his secretary as he ushered Tony inside his cramped office, but the young woman didn’t look at all bothered by her employer’s displeasure. Tony heard her call out that Herr Gerber was there to fix the plumbing and bit back a snicker as Pavlok stuck his head out the door again and hollered back.

“Tell him to be quick about it this time. How is anyone supposed to work with that horrible stench?” Muttering under his breath Pavlok closed the door behind him and sighed, gesturing for Tony to take a seat opposite his cluttered desk with the hand holding his spectacles. “Silly chit. Can’t fire her I’m afraid. Her mother is a cousin. And truth be told, she has a strong head for figures.”

Tony hummed sympathetically, the way one does, and Pavlok replaced his spectacles and took his seat. Sniffing his perky nose he opened a leather bound binder sitting prominently amidst the clutter of books and other nick-knacks and got straight to business with a professionalism that Tony had grown to admire in the short amount of time they’d been acquainted.

“I’ve had a look at your assets Mr. Stark. There was a bit of pushback from Stanislov but we expected that.”

“How did the Abbot take it?” Tony questioned, imagining that Stanislov had likely been a kitten in comparison. But Pavlok laughed and shook his head.

“Father Farkas was rather unexpectedly forthcoming with the information. I got the impression he’s fond of you.”

“Farkas? Ha. You didn’t tell him you were inquiring on my behalf, did you?”

“I didn’t have to. As I said he seemed to be expecting it. Stanislov demanded a judge’s signature before he would release anything but I have some friends in the State Office who handled that nicely.”

Tony’s back tensed with unease.

“So they both know?”

“Your name was kept out of it Antony but legally I could only demand the accounts for titles and assets pertinent to you.” Pavlok answered with a hint of apology and Tony sighed. Well, there was nothing to do about it now.  He’d have preferred to keep Stanislov in the dark but realistically he did not expect the man to do anything drastic so long as Tony kept to himself and didn’t interfere with the business.

Which, if he were honest, he wanted to. There was a small flame burning in his gut that demanded vengeance for the man’s betrayal, for Tony’s dear mother and yes, even for his father, who had deserved a lot of things but not the way he’d died.

“So what did you find?” he asked and Pavlok nodded, beginning with the first document in the folder and sliding it across the desk for Tony’s review as he spoke.

“Your father set aside exactly Five-hundred thousand marks at the bank of Berlin, which was to be metered out in donations to St. Péter’s Abbey for every year that you remained in residence and given to your mother’s kin should you die an untimely death.”

Tony read over the document, mildly surprised that his father had parted with so much money just to get someone to take Tony off his hands.

“No wonder Father Farkas is so fond of me.” he quipped, thinking that he clearly had not raised enough hell during his stay at the abbey. Had he known how handsomely Farkas was being paid to put up with him he’d have shown up to vespers in his knickers more than the once.

“Well he let you leave.” Pavlok pointed out, and then quoted from memory as he tapped the edge of the document, drawing Tony’s eyes to the relevant clause. “Should Antony Stark choose to end his pilgrimage at St. Péter’s Abbey after first reaching twenty-one years of age, a third of the funds are to be gifted to the Abbey and the rest given to Antony Stark.”

And there it was indeed, in plain ink, signed by his father’s hand.

“Farkas has collected a tidy little sum, but he would have gained much more had you stayed there for life.” Pavlok pointed out unnecessarily and Tony grunted uncharitably in reply. It was hard enough coming to terms with Farkas letting go of a fortune seemingly for Tony’s best interest. He did not know what to make at all of his father setting aside a trust for his future this way. A future neither dependent on Stark Industries or touchable by Stanislov. Tony’s mother had probably put him up to it, but half a million marks was no small lump of change.

Pavlok sniffed again and moved on to the next.

“As for Stark Industries, you were given twenty percent controlling stock in the company which was to be held in trust by your uncle, Isiah Carboni. It looks as if he may have been pressured to sell shortly after your parents died. Stanislov now holds the stocks but I daresay not legally. We can fight that in court.”

Tony grimaced. There would be no fighting anything in court. It burned like bitter drink, but Stark Industries and all that was connected to it was lost to him.

“If I collect my share of the trust fund how much is left?” Tony asked, getting down to the heart of things.

“One-hundred-thirty thousand Reichmarks.” Martin replied succinctly and Tony arched his eyebrows, quickly doing the math. Farkas had been receiving a “donation” of close to five thousand marks a year since Tony had arrived, almost twice what the damn lawyer made. A tidy sum Tony’s ass.

“The rest of your father’s personal fortune is tied up in the company. You are entitled to it, but retrieving it won’t be a simple affair.” Pavlok warned. “I doubt Mr. Stanislov will want to relinquish it without a fight. You have the legal high ground as it were, but you’ve given me the impression that you wish to remain out of the public eye.”

Tony snorted but otherwise kept himself very still, his emotions firmly under a blank mask.

“That’s an understatement. No Martin, there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to let Obadiah have his prize.”

That was galling.

It made the stomach twist and burn to think about letting that man just get away with it all, to tear his family apart and get away with arranging his parents’ murders, but there was little Tony could do about it. Obi could have Tony arrested with a single admittance. Hughard had falsified Tony’s birth records and Stanislov was party to the crime. Witnesses who had known his mother growing up would not be hard to find. Desperate people Stanislov could con or pressure into testifying the truth of his heritage were probably a dime a dozen in Pola right now.

With a single blow, in the eyes of the public Tony would go from a man fighting for his rightful inheritance to a nasty tempered Jew trying to steal the jewel of the German Navy.

No, taking the man to court would be tantamount to throwing his life away.

He could be grateful at least that Hughard had the foresight to set up a trust with the church that Stanislov couldn’t touch. Over a hundred thousand marks. That was a fortune, if considerably smaller than the millions Tony might have inherited otherwise. No matter. It was enough for a man to live comfortably off of for the rest of his days without having to work.

And coincidently, it might even be supposed that with some careful investment it was even enough for a young couple and all seven of their children to make a new start.

“What about the other thing we discussed?” Tony asked, leaning forward in his chair and lowering his voice. Though he doubted the precocious Fraulein Darcy had finished with her flirtations, he would not put it past the brazen young woman to be listening at keyholes. “Can I transfer the money overseas?”

Pavlok sighed, fishing for more paperwork for Tony to review, which upon finding he slid toward the younger man.

“Yes, but it’s not as easy as you might think. The Germans are closely watching the banks. Armies are expensive to maintain. They aren’t keen on large sums of money funneling out of the country, especially if it may be financing foreign governments. If there is a reason to seize your funds they’ll take it, so my personal advice to you if you don’t want to be hauled in for questioning is to transfer only a portion. Now I’ve spoken to a colleague of mine, an American fellow who is far more adapt with what passes for law over there.”

Pavlok handed Tony a small card with script on it, with the name and address and phone number for a ‘Mister Matthew Murdock’.

“I can’t imagine what you’ve got in your head Tony, but I believe with his assistance transferring your estate should be manageable.”

A thrill of anticipation went through Tony as he held the small scrap of cardstock in his hands, staring at the solicitors tight and neat little letters as the doors opened up inside his mind. Each one rife with new possibility.

He knew what he wanted out of the future… yes. But Tony knew better than most how many ways a future could divide.

What he held in his hands was personal security.  Just in case.

~*~*~*~

“Fraulein Rogers! Wait up.”

Natacha wanted to groan, but she didn’t. Sophie and Ingrid both looked over their shoulders towards the steps of the Cinema, where their chapter had come together for the evening to see a film about ethnic cleansing. Their eyes widened and they giggled like a pair of fools as they turned and whispered, as if Natacha didn’t have two perfectly working ears of her own.

“Emil is calling after you!”

Emil was in the boys group, and older than her by three years, but he did not seem to mind that. Natacha at twelve was younger than the rest of the girls in her chapter, who were all old enough to be starting at the local college in the fall with Emil. Only neither Ingrid nor Sophie had chosen to start their secondary education at a formal school, having been selected instead to begin at one of the new private schools for select girls of good breeding whose destiny it was to become officers’ wives. Fraulein Werner had made Natacha a leader in the girls her own age, so Natacha went to group meetings and did her own training in the older set, and no one doubted that when she was done with her primary schooling she too would be selected to go to one of the Bride Schools.

Ingrid was a jealous twit about this, but she pretended to be Natacha’s friend anyway because Natacha was Fraulein Werner’s favorite and her father was a national hero. And likely, this was also why Emil and the other boys buzzed about her skirts like annoying flies even though she was younger than them.

“I hear him.” Natacha replied under her breath, staring resolutely ahead as if she had not. She was watching the cars in the street for a sign of Harold, who was supposed to come to take her and Péter home, the film running too close to curfew for either of them to cycle home.

“Well, aren’t you going to speak to him?” Sophie needled her, brown eyes doe like as she snuck another look over their shoulders at Emil. Tall Emil, whose new father was an S.S. officer because he’d turned his old one in for refusing to allow him to join the HJ. Handsome, fair, blue eyed Emil who said he didn’t mind that she was almost as tall as he was and that she still had a chest like a boy. Emil who swore up and down he was going to become second only to the Führer.

He wasn’t.

“Natacha, didn’t you hear me calling you?” the boy in question appeared before her, Ingrid and Sophie parting like the red sea to make room for him and his cocky grin. He knew he was handsome, and loved that he could make the girls blush and twitter after him. Natacha wanted to tip him down the stairs. Only an idiot stood so close to the edge.

“I heard you Emil, only it’s awfully close to curfew and my Father does worry,” she demurred, looking past the young man’s broad shoulders for any sight of Harold with the car or Péter emerging with his group from the cinema.

“Of course. We can’t have a pretty little thing like you walking home alone in the dark.” Emil said, with a leer at her skirts that he surely thought was more subtle than it was. “Tell your father I will walk you home from now on. It would be an honor to -”

“Well you see, I’m not alone. My brother Péter is here with his group.” Natacha interrupted his silly braying with an apologetic smile.

“Péter volunteered to take a patrol tonight,” Emil was quick to inform her and behind her back she heard his friends snickering. Natacha could have kicked Péter just then.

“Ah, I see. Nevertheless, “She kept her expression pleasant while she continued to deny him. Emil was not a boy who liked to be told no. “My Father will have sent the driver. We don’t live in the city.”

“The Rogers live in the country, miles out in the middle of nowhere.” Ingrid shared with a vindictive gleam in her eyes, as if not living within the city proper was something dirty. Natacha supposed it was, but she quite enjoyed their quiet little villa.

For her audience she sighed, as if in agreement.

“I keep telling Father I should like us to get a house in Vienna. Have you been Ingrid? It’s wonderful. Father’s friend the Baroness, the woman I told you about, she knows the most wonderful people.” Natacha knew very well that Ingrid had never been to Vienna but that was not the point. “Oh, well… never mind. I suppose you haven’t since your father is so busy at the railroad.”

As Natacha finished speaking and Ingrid’s smile turned brittle, a familiar car pulled up to the curb, honking loudly for attention and when Natacha saw who was at the wheel a smile of genuine delight cracked her carefully blank veneer.

“James!” She called with a wave. He waved back to her, grinning around the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. With his hair slicked back and still dressed for work she thought he looked just like Clark Gabel, only better because she knew how he liked to joke, and what made him laugh. He was still a mystery in some ways but a good one. That she was sure of. She liked being sure of something.

Turning back to Emil and the others she tossed an apology over her shoulder and began to hurry as quickly down the steps of the Cinema House as she could without earning a scolding later from her superiors. But she hadn’t got very far when Emil grabbed her by the shoulder and squeezed, almost causing her to slip. His fingers were digging into her shoulder.

“Hold on a minute.” Emil entreated and Natacha grabbed his wrist and shoved it away.

“Let me go Emil, I have to go.”

“The dumb Polak can wait a moment.” Emil sneered in the direction where Bucky waited in the car and Natacha went very still, the joy she’d felt at his surprise appearance chased away by Emil’s pointed disdain. 

“He is not a Polak.” She corrected him stiffly and Emil laughed, blond brows arching in disbelief.

“Perhaps you’re right. On second look, he looks more like a Russian dog.”

Natacha wanted to tell Emil that he looked like a horses ass, but she was sure it would get back to Fraulein Werner if she did.

“You have a lot of nerve calling my father’s very best friend such terrible names.” she snapped instead, narrowing her eyes at him. She was happy to see his stupid smile start to falter.

“Now hold on a minute, I didn’t mean – ”

“We all know exactly what you meant.” Natacha cut him off, raising her chin haughtily and not bothering to hide how angry she was. The others would be on her side now anyway. Poor Emil had turned pale and then very red in the face, embarrassed to have landed in such an awkward situation with her friends and his friends standing by hanging on every word.

“I didn’t know he was a friend of your fathers. I thought he was your driver.”

“Well you were wrong.” She hissed, turning sharply and hurrying down the steps once more. Ingrid and Sophie called goodbyes after her but she did not bother to reply. She was glad to be rid of them.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, as soon as she’d closed the car door behind herself. But Bucky did not reply, his eyes fixed somewhere out her window. Natacha looked and saw that he was watching Emil and the group she’d left behind.

“Who is that boy?” he asked, nodding toward Emil. And then as an afterthought, “where the hell is your brother?”

“His name’s Emil, and Péter volunteered to go on a patrol.” Natacha answered as Bucky pulled away from the curb. For a time they sat in silence and she thought about leaving it at that, but something seemed to have possessed her tongue because she couldn’t keep the words behind her teeth, some devilish curiosity wanting to know what would happen if she told him.

 “He wants to marry me.”

“Péter?” Bucky demanded. He looked very confused. It made her want to laugh. She almost did, but she caught it in time.

“Emil. He wants to marry me.” She repeated.

“Does he know you’re twelve?” Bucky growled, and there was something so nice about it she had to bite her lip and look away as he continued to rant. _“_ He’s got no business grabbing you like that and talking about marriage. How old is he?”

Now he sounded like her father she thought, her delight fading. He wasn’t jealous like a beau would be, because to him she was still a child.

She knew that very well. She was not a real woman like Ginger Rogers, no matter how he teased her. It was silly to have tried to make him jealous, and she wasn’t sure at all why she had in the first place. She’d hardly know what to do with a real beau if she had one.

Still, conflicted as she felt there was some little voice in the back of her head that sighed. It had been nice to pretend, even for a moment.

“Fifteen.” She replied matter of factly as she watched the shops pass by her window. “He thinks himself such a big man. He says that he’s going to become S.S. and be second only to the Führer.”

Bucky snorted scathingly, and her mouth tilted towards a smile.

“That’s what I thought too. If we go to war they’ll ship him out on his eighteenth birthday and he’ll get blown up somewhere. He’s just another dead boy too stupid to know it.”

Father would have been horrified to hear her talk like that. Natacha never would have said it in front of him anyway because it would have just made him feel guilty because she couldn’t be innocent like Sara and Maria. Tony would have said something hopeful but naive, because he somehow didn’t know yet how bad the world really was. He still believed they could make a difference. Tony and her father shared a faith that try as she might, she just could not grasp.

She knew what war was. She’d seen what it had done to her father, even though he liked to pretend that she was still his little girl, too innocent to understand what it meant when he shook and screamed and forgot where he was.

But Bucky’s hands clenched tightly on the wheel as he drove, his eyes glinting under the street lamps as he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead (and nowhere at all). But when he finally spoke he did turn to look at her, and for once she didn’t think he saw a little girl.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       “It looks that way, Ginger. It looks that way.”

They didn’t speak much the rest of the journey home. Bucky was in a pensive mood and she left him to it, having a fair number of thoughts of her own to sort through. The film they’d watched had been another harrowing reminder of the looming threat to her family.

No one could know what they were. They’d be rounded up and shipped away. Father would never allow them to be taken. He’d fight, and then he’d die. It made her want to vomit, just thinking about it, but she was strong. She was not a child to hide away from hard truth. The truth was, war could happen any day now and when it did Father would be called back to active duty and then… then he might still very well die and leave them alone in the world.

Unless, he married the Baroness. That would give them stability should the worst happen. It would buy Natacha time to grow up a little more and do what everyone expected.

She’d marry someone important and powerful, someone like her father who people were afraid to question. She would become the perfect officer’s wife. She’d take care of her siblings and protect them too, making sure no one ever learned the truth just as Father had always done. Because if they did… well, it was hard to imagine what would become of them all if they did. When she tried to picture what Emil would say and do if someone whispered in his ear that she was not what he thought she was, it made her shiver.

She told herself that it wouldn’t happen. No one but Bucky had known her father growing up and he would never betray them. They would be fine as long as the past stayed buried and everyone did their part.

Tony was a problem.

She liked him. He made her father smile and laugh and act like himself again. She’d tolerated him just for that at first, but it was far more complex than that now. She liked Tony for Tony. He challenged her where the other tutors had never bothered. He didn’t believe her when she said all she wanted was to be a proper young lady and get married soon. As frustrating as that was, it was, deep down, a relief. But not one she could afford to indulge in. It was Tony’s honesty and the way he demanded honesty from each of them in turn that was so dangerous.

He was unpredictable and he talked too much. He said everything he shouldn’t say and refused to lie even as he lived one.

Still, she liked him.

But he was a danger to himself and to them.

He was a Jew, and one day he was going to get caught. When he did he’d take her family down with him.

Natacha’s hand’s clenched in her lap.

She thought of Emil again, and the parents he’d had before he’d betrayed them.

It would be easy.

Fraulein Werner would believe her. She liked Natacha. She liked that Natacha was her mother’s daughter (the way she thought Mother should have been, and not the way she’d actually been). If Natacha told her she’d discovered the truth about Tony and that her father thought she was being silly (imagine a monk actually being a Jew) Fraulein Werner would believe her, and even if she didn’t she’d jump at the chance to pretend to. She’d want to show Father the power she had, and how his daughter had become what he hated.

And Father… how would he look at her then?

Natacha clenched her hands together once more, this time to stop their trembling.

When Bucky pulled the car into the garage Herr Hogan was waiting to close the doors behind them and lock up for the night, but uncle Bucky to her surprise offered to do it instead and waved the man off to his bed. Natacha thought to dip into the kitchen for a late snack, finding herself hungry after so much deep thought. Goodness she was beginning to sound like Artur she thought with the smallest bit of amusement at herself.

“Hey Ginger, wait a moment.” She heard Bucky call after her and halted, turning to see him leaning against her father’s automobile. He was regarding her with a strange intensity, something grim and dark behind his eyes that made her think wildly that he must know. He must have guessed somehow what she was thinking about doing to Tony.

“Yes, Uncle Bucky?” She sounded young even to her own ears. Sweetly innocent. And that was good, because her heart was slamming and she knew she wasn’t. His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak for a long moment.

“I’m looking at you and it’s like I can see your Ma standing there. You’re growing up too fast. I know you probably think you’re already there – ” Bucky cut himself off with a grunt and a curse, shoving a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. Natacha stayed still, unsure what was happening, only that he did not seem to be angry with her. He wasn’t looking at her with the fear and disgust she kept imagining on her father’s face.

“Shit, _Chavi._ I’m sorry for this nightmare that we’ve given you.” Bucky lamented, fisting his hands before he pushed away from the car. Something seemed to have come over him. Some certainty of purpose because as he marched toward her she straightened like a soldier at attention, ready for what was to come.

“I know you’re old enough to understand what’s coming. I know you know that in war there are no guarantees.” He said, his voice hard but not distant, commanding but passionate enough to border on harsh. She didn’t flinch but she could not help the way her hand shook when he took it and pried her palm open.

Bucky withdrew a small skinny knife from his jacket and placed it there.

“Your Da’s not going to always be there. I’m not always going to be there. Do you understand me? One day you might be alone with someone who wants to hurt you, or your brothers and sisters,” he warned lowly, his voice nearly becoming a snarl as he spoke.

Natacha nodded numbly, the words sinking inside her with a chill. Bucky took her hand and changed the way she was holding the blade, moving each finger into position and squeezing his hand around hers encouragingly when he was satisfied, muttering softer but with no less conviction.

“If that happens, don’t hesitate.”

The chill was being chased away now by a fierce warmth blooming in her chest as he guided her arm, showing her how to strike and thrust, explaining patiently what angles to use on imagined foes of various heights.

He taught her what to do if a man tried to get on top of her; the importance of waiting for the right moment, and how to jab and yank to cause the most damage.

It should have been terrifying but somehow it wasn’t.  It was too right to hold that knife in her hand and learn to use it as Bucky had learned. The way he said he’d taught his sister and the same tricks he and Father had shown her mother. He said Mother preferred a pistol but Natacha liked the feel of the knife.

The solid weight of the hilt in her palm felt like permission to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t want to bite her tongue and keep someone’s house. She wanted to fight. Fight like her Father. Like Bucky. Like her Mother.

Who she wanted to fight was harder to distinguish as the threats multiplied and the faces of her enemies melded together with friends and her own reflection. She wanted to fight them all. Everyone and anything that threatened her and her family.

It was too easy to think of slapping that sneering grin off Emil’s face. She thought of his hand squeezing her shoulder, and the shock that would be on his face if she turned and jabbed his belly. He’d never call her little girl again. She’d make him pay. She’d make them all pay.

Her body was shaking as she blinked away the visceral fantasy. She felt sick at herself.

The knife in her hand had become a sinister weight, like holding the tail of a snake. She wanted to hurl the horrible thing away, to curl into a ball and cry for her father (for her mother) but she couldn’t let go of it. Mother was dead and very soon, her father might be too. She must be strong.  

She could no longer depend solely on her father’s protection. She had to protect herself. She could do it. She knew she could. If they tried to hurt her or her family, she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d be glad.

And that was the very realization that made her grip finally go slack, the knife clattering to the garage floor.

A sob tore from deep within her chest and she hung her head, desperate to hide her face as it crumpled and the tears burned her eyes.

Solid arms wrapped around her, Bucky pulling her in close to his chest without a word.

He held her as she cried and she clutched to him tightly, curling up against his chest like she had when she was Maria’s age, wishing desperately for once that it was true.

She’d skinned both her knees falling down, racing Péter and Harry. She’d be kissed and coddled and carried to her mother, and in the safety of sure loving arms she’d be certain that the pain she felt was only momentary.

But she wasn’t five again, and her uncle Bucky’s body was trembling against hers as he dropped tears into her hair.

“I’m sorry, _pisliskurja_. I’m so sorry.” He murmured over and over and over again. When he squeezed her tight and pressed a firm kiss to the side of her brow and said, “It’s going to be okay darlin’. You’re strong,” she believed him.

Everything wasn’t going to be okay by itself, but it didn’t matter. He believed she was strong enough to survive it and to help her siblings survive it. And in that moment at least, so did she.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Although it wasn’t in Tony’s official duties to mind the children after their lessons had ended for the day, it was safe to say that by now no one in the Rogers household (least of all Tony) was going to try and pretend that his duties didn’t fall somewhere messily between governess and surrogate parent. Not that Tony was under any illusions to who the real parent was and how quickly he could lose his place in the house.

He reminded himself every day and made a point to look at the card with the American lawyer’s name on it every morning just to start the day off on solid footing. Nevertheless, his incorrigible heart continued to long after the captain and fall further in love with the children, and his own bullheaded nature saw him reaching for the untenable: a place in Stefen’s life that could only be occupied by a lover.

No. That wasn’t quite right either. He didn’t just want to be Stefen’s lover. Tony’d had plenty of lovers over the years (four or five, which for a monk practically made him Casanova). He did not want to be someone whom Stefen bed and then set aside, or kept at arm-length from his troubles or his children. He wanted to share in every joy imaginable, yes, but more prevalent to their current situation Tony wanted to share in every burden just as staunchly.

Stefen needed someone who was unafraid to help him sort through the mess in his head and who would not be cowed by his stubbornness and unwillingness to budge when he thought he was in the right.

Tony wanted real partnership. A real relationship more like. It wasn’t unheard of between two men. That sort of thing wasn’t something one had ever discussed in public even before Hitler had come to power but Tony was familiar with the practice and the subculture surrounding sodomy. His sexual education had started tamely enough on his oldest friend, but had been spurred by reckless rebellion when it had become clear that Hughard expected Tony to settle with someone of his choosing. A good catholic girl preferably from good German family with appropriate business ties, feelings not required.

Tony’s adolescent years had become a game of thumbing his nose at his father by shamelessly chasing every passing attraction, male or female, without a thought to the family name or the indecency of his actions. The only good thing about being forced to spend a quarter of his year in Germany with his parents was the red-light district in Hamburg.  He’d studied the full spectrum of human appetite quite thoroughly among the sailors who crowded Reeperbahn, but contrary to what his father might have imagined it wasn’t all rolled stockings, drag shows, and decadence. People said that love between two people of the same sex was a perversion, and that two men especially could never feel anything beyond a base and primitive sexual hunger for one another.

Maybe that was true for many, but Tony had met enough for whom it wasn’t, and for whom the test of years and ever changing public attitudes had changed little.

Somewhere right now in Hamburg, Salzburg, Berlin, Vienna, and anywhere else that could be imagined, there are two old friends happily sharing their lives together. People wonder but they didn’t pry, and if someone recognized them in one of those infamous establishments that catered to a certain kind they weren’t likely to mention it for fear of being asked why they were there themselves.

Hitler had made it more dangerous to be different but people didn’t change. They kept on, even if they had to do it with their heads down and an eye on their shadow.

Tony thought that he could be happy with the quiet life of a retired clergyman, with his good friend Captain Rogers. In fact, at this point he was sure that having such a life denied him once and for all was going to break his heart. Did that stop him from pressing forward?

Of course not. His name was Antony Stark and he was too foolish not to go about breaking his heart over impossible dreams. Which was why he was watching the clock for Péter and Natacha to come home that night, because he worried about them each time they suited up for their programs and left the proverbial nest, and because both children had been acting strangely.

They were under a lot of pressure so it was only to be expected that they would both suffer withdrawnness and darker moods, but Tony still worried. About Péter especially. He was vulnerable in a lot of ways that his sister wasn’t. Softer, but no less brave. Tony was tired of seeing him come home with black eyes and excuses for them that only a dullard would believe. And it was a niggling worry in the back of his mind that Péter for all that he was a gentler spirit than Natacha was still a Rogers. He had enough split knuckles to go with those black eyes to prove it.

“Where’s your brother?” Tony asked Natacha as she passed the sitting room door alone, on the route towards the stairs and the girl jumped in surprise. Normally Tony would have taken delight in giving her a scare for once but the blotches on her cheeks and red rimmed eyes told him an alarming tale of recent tears. Tony was out of his chair in an instant.  “What happened?!”

“Nothing happened. I had a silly disagreement over a boy with Ingrid.” The girl answered tonelessly as Tony examined her. He didn’t believe her, but didn’t think it would do any good to say so. Wordlessly he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief to offer her. She accepted it with a grateful nod and wiped at her face. When she was more presentable she handed it back explaining softly, “Péter took another patrol tonight. It’s wonderful, isn’t it Herr Stark? How keen he’s become about the HJ?”

Wonderful wasn’t quite the words Tony would use. Terrifying, noxious, and devastating all came to mind but troubling won out. It didn’t make sense Péter would want to spend more time in the HJ when he was treated so terribly, and they reinforced all of his insecurities about not being able to measure up to his father’s expectations. Sometimes it went that way, Tony knew from personal experience that rejection could spawn a boy to try all the harder but he would have bet before this on Péter going the direction of reckless rebellion.

Maybe he’d projected too much of himself on the boy, or perhaps too much of Stefen, but Tony kept seeing the bruises on his knuckles in his mind’s eye. He didn’t think so. Backed into a corner he knew what Péter would do.

In answer to Natacha Tony raised a questioning brow and asked, “Is that how he describes it? I have to wonder when he comes home looking as if he’s had the snot beat out of him.”

The girl stiffened her back, the subtle accusation going unmissed.

“The boys love their boxing. You know how they are,” she replied stiffly. She looked toward the stairs and Tony knew she would try to make her escape even before she turned to make it, tossing dismissively over her shoulder as she hurried away, “I’m very tired. I hope they don’t do another late film for a while. Goodnight- ”

“I know how boys are Natacha.” Tony interjected calmly and the girl paused at the bottom of the stairs. “We both know what happens to the boys who are different in Hitler’s Germany. I am just not sold on how wonderful it is.”

“Tony, I wish you wouldn’t say things like that!” she cried suddenly, her voice echoing sharply in the otherwise silent hall. She wouldn’t look at him, but Tony noticed that one hand gripped one wrist in a white knuckled grip. Standing solemnly at the foot of the stairs with her jaw set and her fierce gaze pointed upward she reminded him suddenly of a painting that hung in the east chapel at the abbey. It was a rendition of the Madonna playing interceder, stepping before the heavenly throne on behalf of the condemned as they clutched at her skirts. Tony had always loved that painting but seeing that same fierce tortured burn in the eyes of this little girl was going to break his heart.

 Deep down, he knew the reason why it was there.

“I know you do, bambina.” He answered with a heavy sigh. “But I say them for you nevertheless, because I know if I don’t, that no one else will and that strikes me as incredibly unfair to you children.”

She didn’t answer him. After a long moment of silence, she broke into a run up the stairs as if the very hounds of hell were after her. He knew his words had landed and he was happy just giving the girl something to think about. It was not her responsibility to know what to do in times like these, or to assure the wellbeing of those she loved. That was a job for the adults, for her father, and it was time someone brought that to the man’s attention.

If they all failed her and she felt forced to make a choice between what was right and those she loved, then more the shame on them for feeding their children to wolves.

Decided, Tony did what he’d been avoiding all week and made his way to the captain’s office.

Stefen’s door was firmly shut just as it always seemed to be since the arrival of the twins, and standing just outside it Tony could hear him speaking lowly to someone. Bakhuizen no doubt, the two of them neck deep in treason. And it was gratifying to know that he’d been right about Stefen in that regard, that he hadn’t just been projecting his own wants and wishes onto the man because of his own wayward heart but because Stefen well and truly believed in the things he was fighting for.

But Stefen was a father, and that night Tony was going to make sure he remembered it.

He knocked smartly on the closed door, more for show than anything because he barely waited for a reply before trying the knob, feeling a surge of savage delight when it twisted easily and he thrust open the door.

Bakhuizen and Stefen were standing over the captain’s desk, looking over what might have been a map but was hard to discern because at his sudden entry both men moved to block it from view. Bakhuizen’s face cycled through horrified surprise to anger in a frankly hilarious fashion but Tony kept his amusement to himself as Stefen snapped, “Stark, there better be a good reason for this interruption.”

“I need to speak with you Captain. It’s about the children.” Tony got straight to the point and Stefen’s brow furrowed in concern, eyes darting anxiously into the hallway beyond.

“Has something happened?”

“No Captain, bodily they’re fine.” Tony amended, wishing to maintain the sense of gravity but not wishing to draw out the man’s worry that something terrible had befallen one of the children.

“So you just felt like barging in here because you had something on your mind?” Bakhuizen barked and feeling the man’s dark glower Tony turned toward him and met him with a frank stare.

“If I waited for Stefen to have time to squeeze in an audience with me I’d be waiting until you two have single handedly helped Austria avoid war, or at the very least sorted out this mess with the twins; and as I said Herr Bakhuizen what I have to say will not wait.” Turning back toward the captain Tony held his wrists behind his back like a proper servant and demanded with no hint of subservience, “Shall I say it now in front of James or would you prefer this be a private discussion?”

Herr Bakhizen blinked slowly, as if shocked and then barked a harsh laugh.

“You really do think you’re lord of the house. Don’t you Stark?” 

“Bucky.” Stefen sighed a warning which drew his friend’s ire.

“He can speak for himself Stefen! You heard him.” The man practically growled as he turned back on Tony. “So go on Pretty Boy, let’s hear it.”

Tony stiffened at the unexpected insult, a jolt of fear slamming through him. It was hardly the first time in his life when someone had looked at him and thought Pretty Boy, but such associations could be dangerous and he had the feeling that Bakhuizen had chosen the insult very specifically. He couldn’t know anything, Tony reassured himself. He and Stefen had only shared the one kiss and he had to think that Stefen was not such a fool as to go admitting it to anyone. Not even his oldest friend.

Well, it hardly mattered how he’d become suspicious or why. Tony wasn’t ashamed of _prettiness_ nor of anything he was about to say.

“Very well then. Captain Rogers, you told me once how much you love Austria, and I admired you for that, but you’ve left me no choice but to conclude that you must love your country more than you love your own children. And for that I say you are a fool.”

Complete silence fell over the room in the wake of his words. Bakhizen’s mouth had actually fallen open. Not that Tony had noticed, gaze intent as it was upon watching the shock and anger take over Stefen’s face in turns.

“Bucky, leave us.” The captain commanded without so much as glancing at the man, who snapped his mouth shut and put up no further argument.

“Gladly.” Tony heard him mutter darkly as he all but fled the room, slamming the door behind him.

 “Herr Stark,” Stefen began as soon as the room was silent again. His voice was dangerously controlled. “I have granted you many liberties because I am fond of you. But you are never to speak to me that way again. Have I made myself clear?”

“No, if I’m to be frank.” Tony answered stepping toward him.

“Excuse me?” Stefen snapped in reply taking a step of his own, but Tony was ready for it.

“Clear is not your strong suit Stefen. For instance, it is not clear what you intend to do about the fact that this time last week I kissed you. I suppose that’s fine. I’m an adult, I can handle disappointment. But there are other things that I just cannot go another moment without some clarity on.” Tony seethed.

 “It’s not clear what you intend to do about the fact that, according to the Reich, it is merely unfortunate if Péter is beaten to death by his peers. It is not clear to me that you are aware of how you’ve left your daughter to be stripped down and dressed up and sold on a mating block to satisfy the likes of Fraulein Werner and every other malicious crow who wishes to turn her into a weapon against her own sex. Against herself Stefen! Have you not wondered at all what her mother would say?”

“Do not talk about my wife Stark!” Stefen snarled, closing the remaining distance between them to loom over him threateningly but Tony stood his ground.

“I will! Damn you. We are all going to talk about Margrit Rogers, Stefen, and you’ll bear it! She can’t simply be boxed away for your convenience, for you to pull out whenever you’d like to bludgeon yourself with grief or excuse what an ass you’re being.”

“I’m an ass?!” Stefen barked, but mercifully Tony could hear a telltale warble in his voice, and as if in confirmation his eyes had softened, taken on a wounded roundness that hurt to see but was nevertheless necessary to get through to him. “That’s rich coming from you. You barge in here throwing around insults.”

Taking a risk Tony tentatively placed his hands upon Stefen’s shoulders, and though they were tight beneath his hands and that wounded expression did not fade from his face, Stefen did not resist the touch. If anything he leaned in, gravitating toward Tony as the slightly shorter man smiled up at him with a hint of apology.

“I know I’m an ass. With both of us so hard headed you’d think I’d have come up with a better strategy by now for getting your attention. What do you think, should I have worn a negligée, put kohl on my eyelashes?”

Tony felt the tension in Stefen’s shoulders slowly melting away as the Captain grunted, “You’re being ridiculous.”

To Tony’s delight, his pupils dilated tellingly. Stefen turned his head, perhaps to hide them from Tony’s view (too late) and grit his teeth.

“Damn you Tony.” He cursed, that hurt still laced through his tone. “I love those children more than my own life!”

Tony knew he did, but he also knew that sometimes everybody needed a reminder.

“And this is how you plan to show it?” he entreated and Steve jerked as if Tony had shot him, staring down at him with naked surprise, like Tony had caught him undressing and Tony’s mouth tilted toward a soft smile, even though his chest felt weighted.

“I’ve been died on Stefen, remember? My parents left me alone in the middle of a war. I hated my father for sending me to the monastery.”

At some point one of Tony’s hands had slid over Stefen’s collar bone to cradle his neck. Stefen stared deeply at Tony even though the monk had lowered his eyes. It was very hard, even after all these years, to talk about his past but he would just have to push past the discomfort. He owed it to Stefen to be no less willing to bare his own wounds than he was asking Stefen to be. That didn’t make this easy, but Stefen reaching up his hand to lay over his was promising as well as heartening.

“I’m sure he did his best for you,” Stefen murmured, and even twenty years later there was a part of Tony that wanted to scoff and bitterly reject the platitude out of hand, but he forced himself to consider the words and how they were meant. And then to accept that there was a certain amount of truth in them. Hughard had tried only it was too little too late, and if Stefen wasn’t careful he was going to make the same mistake.

“My mother told me I’d understand one day,” Tony acknowledged with a sad smile. “But that took twenty years of grief and loss that could have been avoided if my father had just a little less pride. The only thing that makes it slightly bearable is knowing that they didn’t choose it. But what you’re doing right now Stefen is a choice.”

“It’s the only choice I have.” Stefen insisted, the bark returning to his tone as he stiffened again under Tony’s hands. “I can’t sit back and do nothing while Germany swallows my country Tony. I can’t!”

“You can’t or you won’t? You can’t fight every battle Stefen. It’s not on you to save Austria, but you do have a responsibility to save your children. They don’t need a martyr, they need their father!”

“Well what would you have me do Tony, pull them from the HJ? They’d take them from me!” Stefen snapped, jerking away from Tony to pace with his hands fisted in frustration. The sudden loss of his touch stung but Tony ignored it as best he could.

“Send them away, Stefen! Get them out of Austria for good.”

There. He’d said it. The words echoed in the quiet study like a gun shot and the captain went very still. It was a long moment before he spoke again, his voice tight and controlled, but somehow sounding small in Tony’s ears. Ashamed.

“I thought about that in the beginning… It’s my own fault for not… Tony it’s not that simple anymore. They watch everything. It’s too late for me to send them abroad without suspicion.”

So that was it. Guilt and fear seemed to be hanging over the man. Guilt for not acting quickly enough and letting the window of opportunity close, and fear of the very real hardship of sending one’s children away from one’s self with no guarantees of when they would be reunited. No way to stop something horrible from befalling them when they were out of your sight.

Tony did not judge him for that fear. How could he? To lose one’s wife was bad enough. But then to face the possibility of losing your children on top of it? It would have driven Tony mad. He didn’t quite know how Stefen could be standing there as straight backed and outwardly put together as he was when he was so clearly at his wits end because were Tony in his shoes he certainly wouldn’t be.

“It’s not too late.” Tony assured him, slowly closing the distance that had gapped between them once more. “I wrote to an academy in Switzerland about Péter, and together I’m sure we can come up with a plan for the others.”

But predictably Stefen’s focus caught on the one thing Tony had kind of hoped to slide under his radar.

“A School? What School?”

“The International School of Geneva. They’re well known for their programs in the sciences and they also have a university level program dedicated to research that he can graduate into.” Tony explained.

“Have you talked to him about this?” Stefen asked.

“No but – ”

“Good. Tony, don’t. You’ll only give him false hope.”

“It’s real hope Stefen!” Tony insisted, beginning to lose patience. It was clear that Stefen was dismissing the idea, without even really considering it. “Certainly, more than he’ll find in the damn Reich. They’re going to break him. You can’t just –”

“I know damn well what will happen if he stays in the Reich Tony. Do you think I want my son shipped back to me in a box?” Stefen snapped.

“Then send him to school in Switzerland where it’s safe!” Tony snapped back.

Stefen opened his mouth to deliver some retort, no doubt equally snappish, but at that moment the telephone on the desk began to ring the shrill sound startling them both so that they whipped their heads around rather comically to stare at it.

It rang once more and Tony felt Stefen begin to move.

“Don’t answer that!” he snapped, whipping his head back around only to be taken by the complete surprise of Stefen’s arm sliding around his waist and one hand firmly taking ahold of his jaw to position Tony’s mouth just where he wanted it.

And then Stefen’s mouth was sliding over his, hot pressure against his lips sending a jolt through Tony’s system as Stefen’s tongue slid boldly over the seam of his lips. Tony shuddered as Stefen’s teeth pulled against his lower lip, Tony’s mouth falling open with a small involuntary moan. As Stefen’s mouth shifted once more and his tongue delved back inside Tony’s mouth he grabbed the man by his lapels, though whether it was to keep his suddenly liquefying knees from giving out on him and or to strangle the man he couldn’t tell.

Too quickly the jarring ringing of the telephone broke through the fog of desire in Tony’s brain, the sudden loss of Stefen’s body heat against his like a physical ache as Stefen drew back, eyes full of heat as he murmured, “That should be clear enough for you.”

And then he moved around Tony, leaving him there blinking after him sluggishly before the normally quick witted monk finally realized the captain intended to answer the phone, conversation done.

“Don’t! Stefen damn you.” Tony faltered with a huff as the captain ignored him, picking up the receiver to announce that Captain Rogers was on the line. Tony wanted to throw something at him.

It was obvious to him that Stefen considered the matter settled. Curse him. Stefen must suppose that it was just as easy as a kiss, just as easy as robbing Tony of breath and every thought would just melt out of his head and he’d just become some meek compliant simpering little thing happy to click his heels and say his yes sirs and go along with whatever the captain might wish.  Well, Captain Rogers would just have to think again.

“We are not done with this conversation.” Tony hissed lowly, turning sharply on his heel. If he slammed the door on his way out, it was only as good as the idiot deserved.

 

~*~*~

“Captain Rogers?” the voice on the other end of the line was unfamiliar. Steve waited until the door had shut behind Tony and he heard the sound of his footsteps retreating from the door before he answered.

“Speaking. Who is this?”

“My name Agent Filip Coulson. I’m with the Abwehr.”

Stefen’s grip tightened around the phone. He kept his breathing even despite the cold sweat that broke out on his skin.

“What does the Abwehr want with me?”

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

The curfew had made things difficult for Péter and the other Salzburg X-Men to perform their strikes but Péter had a unique advantage over the others, being a leader in the HJ.

It was easier for him to get his papers stamped to be out late by volunteering for more patrols and other activities within his program. His sudden burst of nationalist fervor was viewed positively by his superiors as a wise attempt to make up for his physical deficiencies. Hammer had even pulled him aside at breakfast the other day and commended him for his change in attitude.

"It's as I've always said Master Péter. There are only a few men like your father. It is the honor of the common man to path the way for the heroes."

Péter had wanted to ask if Hammer thought he should line the road with brick or if he should just lay his body down in the dirt to save the cost of materials, but he wasn't stupid.

The only one who didn't seem happy about the change was Tony and Péter felt bad enough about his tutor’s obvious disappointment that it almost made him consider stopping. Tony hated the Nazis. He thought they were terrible people. He'd outright said it a few times, which Péter wished he wouldn't do. They were all encouraged at their programs to report on adults who contradicted the things they were learning, who confused or troubled them with strange ideas.

Péter thought Tony was the best teacher they'd ever had and he knew his siblings agreed... but Natacha was always so concerned with the rules now and Ian wouldn't know how to break a rule if it killed him. The little boys were just little. James and Artur would never try and hurt Tony on purpose but they could both be bull-headed, and sooner or later they were going to say something they shouldn't and someone was going to ask where they got their ideas.

The Reich would arrest Tony and put him on trial and when they found him guilty they'd throw him in a prison camp, because that’s what they did to people who opposed them.

Péter vehemently dipped his paint brush in the can at his feet and slashed a bold red X across the large photograph pinned to a post outside a women's dress shop. It depicted a smiling blond woman with her arm slung across a happy looking woman whose dark skin and laughing eyes reminded him painfully of Sam. The caption on the poster declared that the results of such friendships was a loss of racial pride. Péter smeared the words with another slash of his brush and felt a stab of vicious satisfaction as he covered the lie with a warning of his own: RESIST.

Doing what he was doing was the only way for Péter to help Tony. The only way to help himself.

A few feet away Rogue turned from her own work and shared smile with him in the dark, her eyes bright with a familiar inner flame in the lamplight.

"If we go down this street up here," Péter instructed quietly, pointing to their left, "it shouldn't be patrolled for another fifteen minutes. But we need to be quick."

She nodded without speaking, grabbing a fistful of pamphlets from the satchel and leaving them stacked between the lamp posts. She cast around in the dark for a moment before she found a loose stone big enough to weigh the papers down before rising once more. She grabbed the satchel and he grabbed the trunk with the brush and paint.

They walked quickly keeping to the side streets to avoid the late traffic. It was sparse, due to the curfew but it was only just after eleven, and there were still a number of official reasons why someone might be journeying home late. Though it was dangerous to strike before the city had gone to bed, any later and the less believable it was that someone their age had a legitimate reason for being out. Not that it would matter much if they were caught in the act.

"This is the last street," Péter announced with some relief as they reached the end of their route. It was a short little avenue with a couple of restaurants and a flower shop. A car honked somewhere up the road and they both jumped, Rogue's hand clutching his arm momentarily before the return of silence on the street. Péter slumped with relief when there was no further noise and no sound of an approaching car and Rogue giggled breathlessly.

"That was close, eh Spider?"

She darted out of the shadows toward the doors of the businesses, spreading leaflets as she went and Péter followed, dropping his trunk at the side of the nearest shop to retrieve the paint brush.  He made quick work of the first two buildings mindful of the time when the next patrol was likely to be around but when they reached the flower shop the poster on the door made him pause.

Amidst the usual signage for 'no service for jews' and a couple of posters of bright smiling homemakers declaring that a happy home was one with a woman at home, was a wanted poster. It wasn't the pictures that caught his eye at first. No, he was nearly about to X out the images when the words: WANTED GYPSIES jumped out at him.

He didn't know what he thought would be on that poster, only that his chest had clenched with dread, and he'd been desperate to know what they wanted with the Gypsies, and by the time he'd figured out that the poster was just a warning against two specific ones he had a whole other reason for standing there, gaping at it.

"Ugh, I can't stand it." Coming up beside him once more Rogue hissed in the dark, already reaching for it as she demanded. "Spider give me your brush."

Péter let her take it without complaint, eyes still stuck on the pictures of Anya and Péter Maximoff. Only the poster said their names were Wanda and Pietro. The poster also said they were Gypsies, wanted for thievery and dangerous to the public, but if that were so what were they doing in Uncle Bucky's new show? Maybe he didn't know. Or maybe he did know and just didn't care. Uncle Bucky was a gypsy like them. Like Péter's Baka... Like Péter.

Clucking her tongue disapprovingly Rouge was viciously slashing out the pictures of those smiling women writing boldly across their bodies 'WOMEN FOR RESISTANCE' just as Péter heard the sound of a car engine coming up the road. It was only a second later when he could see headlights splashing against the side of a building across the street.

The car was speeding toward them, up the road they'd already hit. They both seemed to realize it at the same moment, staring wildly at each other frozen in shock before he heard her breathe his name in a small voice.

"Péter?"

"Come on!"

Knocking the brush out of her hand Péter grabbed Anamarie's wrist and ran toward the other end of the street, praying that the car didn't reach the corner and spot them before they could duck down it.

Luck seemed to be with them as they turned the dark corner, but Péter didn't stop to see if the car would stop where they'd abandoned their things or turn down the road after them, running toward the main street where there was more light.

"Not that way!" Anamarie hissed, tugging on his hand but Péter pulled her along, shaking his head as he panted in reply, "We can't let them catch us in the alley."

Péter slowed them only when they'd reached the main road, because if a patrol was nearby it wouldn't do to come running out and draw attention to themselves.

He stuck his head out of the alley and saw that there was indeed a pair of officers standing not far up the road but they were standing outside the doors of a bar, one of them helping the other to light a cigarette and not looking.

"Hurry." Péter whispered, tugging Anamarie's hand and quietly they slipped out of the alley, Péter immediately slinging his arm over her shoulder and forcing them to a leisurely stroll as if they'd wandered up the street while the officers weren't looking.

He ducked his head towered Anamarie as if they were intimately whispering to one another. She was trembling against him but there was strangely no fear in her eyes. Their green was lost to silver in the moonlight but not their quiet confidence, and Péter had the really weird thought that if he was going to be arrested he was glad it was like this with her.

His heart was thudding loudly in his chest when they were noticed.

"Hey! You there." A voice called sharply and Péter realizing in an instant of shaking legs and pounding heart finding none of his father's bravery and ease with command, in a split moments decision decided to try and be somebody else instead.

"I said you there!" The voice barked again and Péter looked up, a slightly manic feeling smile stretching his mouth as he looked up to find one of the policemen marching purposefully toward them, a scowl heavily set on his face.

"Evening Officer! It's a beautiful night isn't it?" He called out cheerfully, pointing towards the sky. "Just look at those stars. You can't see stars like that anywhere else in the world can you? You ever wonder what's up there? My father says we'll never know but that's what I get for asking him, he -"

"Why are you two out after curfew?" The officer interjected, ignoring Péter's affable prattle entirely. "Where are your papers?"

"Papers?" Péter blinked guilelessly at the officer as if the concept were new before smacking himself lightly on the forehead and digging around in his pockets for his identification. Anamarie handed hers over silently and watched Péter as he pretended to struggle to find his. "Oh yes of course.  Here you go."

The officer examined both booklets quickly, noting the official stamp from Herr Lehmann giving Péter permission to be out after hours with a huff and a dark glare of suspicion as he took in Anamarie's documentation, noticeably absent of a similar stamp. His hard eyes raked her up and down, mouth curling judgmentally at the waves in her dark hair which she wore down with pride, against the German style.

"This says you're from Glasenbach? What are you doing here out after curfew?"

"I'm escorting Frauline Adler to her aunt’s house." Péter quickly explained. "She's just had her ninth child, what a saint, but isn't quite back on her feet. Poor old girl, it’s the dropsy we think. Her father's a friend of my father, Captain Rogers, and when Father learned she'd be coming in on the late train he sent me to make sure she didn't meet with any trouble. I know, lucky me."

Péter cast Anamarie what he hoped was a suitably besotted smile and his stomach lurched when her mouth curved into a grin and she rested her head against his shoulder, her soft brown hair tickling his neck. He didn’t miss the way the officer's eyes widened at the mention of his father's name and the shocked way his eyes flicked back to Péter's identification with realization. Emboldened Péter arched an eyebrow and asked with a touch of haughtiness.

"There's no trouble here is there officer?"

"No, no. Of course not." Playing a much changed tune, the officer quickly handed back their papers with an apologetic half smile toward Anamarie. "it's just that we can't be too careful with these anarchists on the loose Fraulein, I'm sure you understand."

"Of course." Anamarie demurred with a pleasant smile as he waved them on their way.

"Give your father my regards."

"Oh I will," Péter promised, jauntily saluting. "Heil Hitler!"

"Heil Hitler!" The officer saluted back before turning to jog back to his partner.

He and Anamarie hurried on their way after that, fighting to keep from breaking into a run or letting the jubilant smiles of relief take over their faces until they were out of sight of the police. But as soon as they were well enough away, Anamarie threw back her head and cackled.

"Péter Rogers the sheer nerve of you! You darling creature!" She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her plush mouth against his cheek in a smacking kiss, the glitter of mischief in her eyes as she laughed at his utterly stupefied expression.

"What. Surely you've been kissed before?"

"N-no?" Péter blushed a vibrant red and she laughed again. Though she winked at him Péter couldn't help but notice she let her arms fall from around him and backed away, already regretting the loss of her soft feel against his body and the sweet smell of her perfume.

"You must think me the worst sort of hussy."

"No!" Péter immediately denied, shaking his head adamantly. "No, we got carried away is all. I'm sure you don't go around kissing other men."

Unless of course she did, which was a possibility. One Péter very much didn't like the thought of as jealousy flared hot in his chest. His displeasure must have shown on his face because she scoffed loudly and pushed past him with a shove. Wincing Péter called for her to wait, but she didn't so much as pause in her stride as she called back over her shoulder, "We shouldn't be on the street when they discover what we did."

She was mad at him now. Péter didn't know a lot about girls but he knew that much.

Sighing, he resolved himself to a long awkward walk home and jogged after her.

 

*~*~*

 

Tony kept Péter and his siblings busy with lessons during the day so it was hard for Péter to find a moment alone to speak with either Anya or Péter alone where either one of his siblings or Tony himself was not around. The only one he didn't have to worry about was his father because the captain had barely made it to a meal a day since the pair had arrived, caught up in some important business that took him away from the house for long hours.  It looked as if whatever magic had been responsible for Vienna and his sudden desire to spend time with them was over. Not that Péter cared. He'd always known it was too good to last.

Their guests kept to themselves and didn't speak much unless prompted. When they did it was in a funny accent, though they spoke German well enough. Anya was weird. She had really big eyes and her thin face made them look even larger. She mostly let her brother do the talking but when she did talk it was to say strange things. The only time she seemed to really open up was during their music lessons, which made sense Péter guessed, if they were going to go on tour with Uncle Bucky.

Anya had a nice voice and knew a ton of interesting songs. Sometimes she didn't even bother singing them in German when Tony managed to get her to sing. And now that he knew the truth about her and her brother Péter wondered if she was speaking Gypsy. Anya... that is Wanda, reminded him of his grandmother.

He didn't remember as much as he'd like but he remembered her kind eyes and her rough hands.

"Hard work", she'd always said, "makes a body old, but the spirit keeps it young."

He remembered how she'd taken care of him when he got that fever, making him swallow sour remedies and rubbing his chest with a warm towel as she sang him to sleep.  In gypsy. Because that was what she was and father hadn't told them because he'd not wanted anyone to find out.

Péter wasn't stupid. He knew what would happen if people found out, but that was now. Before, that had been his father's choice because he'd been ashamed. Well, Péter wasn't ashamed. He wanted to talk to Wanda and Pietro because he didn't know any other gypsies besides his family, and he might never get another chance.

Pietro talked more than his sister. He talked really fast actually when you got him going. He liked to tell wild stories and didn't seem to mind being badgered by the little ones constant questions or requests to play.

That day, Tony had some business of his own to do so when he announced that he was giving them an hour of freedom before lunch Péter finally saw his chance. Only when Péter got up to leave the music room with the others Tony asked him to stay behind for a moment.

Anxiously eyeing Pietro's back as he and his sister left the room with the others, Péter couldn't think of an excuse fast enough to avoid the talk and Tony seemed to sense it.

"It'll only be a minute Péter. We just haven't had much of a chance to talk." There was nothing accusatory in Tony's tone but Péter still felt the need to explain himself.

"I've been busy with the HJ." he mumbled, looking away when that disappointment Tony couldn't quite hide became too much.

"I see. It must be nice, seeing all your friends again and being one of the group. I just don't want you to lose sight of the future."

The future? Péter couldn't help but scoff. Who cared about the future. The only future someone like Péter had was under the boots of the boys who were bigger and stronger and he'd be lucky just to have that. Tony didn't know what he was. He didn't know that Péter would always be looking over his shoulder, hoping and praying someone didn't find out. Well Péter didn't want that future. He was fighting for a better one.

"Do you think it's your duty to follow your father into the army?" Tony asked, ignoring the disparaging sound.

"It's what a real man would do." Péter answered with bite but Tony didn't seem to be effected by it.

The monk just nodded thoughtfully and murmured, "That is what they say, but you see I wonder... Because I know this young man. He’s intelligent, I'd go so far as to say brilliant, whose gaze is not fixed at the end of a rifle. His eyes are on the stars and all their mysteries, and without him we might never know what they're made of. That young man matters a great deal to me, which is why I wrote to the International School of Geneva."

"Who did you write?" Péter frowned at him, stomach lurching at the word 'international' and confused why Tony would write any school about him. Péter never thought he'd be happy to leave Austria but now... now the thought of being any place else almost seemed too good to be true.

"It's a private school in Geneva, Switzerland. Unlike the Nazis they believe there is great value in devoting much of their curriculum to the sciences. They have many wonderful instructors who are experts in their fields. It’s more than I could teach you -"

"That's not true." Péter interjected, feeling a protective urge toward his tutor. "I've seen you memorize whole books, just reading them once. You know more than some professor at some Swiss school."

"Thank you for that, and tempted as I am to simply accept your adoration at face value, I care about you far too much to let you go on thinking there isn't a big difference between reading a book and years of experience." Tony smiled at him but it didn't reach his eyes. There was something very wistful about his expression. Sad, Péter thought with disquiet. Tony seemed very sad just then. His voice was subdued when he continued.

"Experience is something I lack... but it's open to you Péter, the whole world is. I'd like you to consider it."

Consider it? Péter had never known it was possible to want a thing so badly, but he hadn't known something like this was possible. He still didn't think it was!

"How?" His voice cracked on the question and he had to swallow. "Father won't even agree to let me go to public school here in Salzburg. He isn't going to let me go to school in Switzerland Tony."

"Let me handle that. Fear of a no is no reason to back down Péter, remember that." Tony smiled at him again, this one feeling more genuine than the last. Happier somehow. Tony raised himself up from the piano bench and Péter stepped back to walk with him toward the door but halted, surprised when Tony reached for his hand. That was strange, Péter thought at first until it occurred to him with dawning horror that he might still have paint under his nails.

He always made sure to scrub really well after a strike but the stuff stained easily and his nailbeds were hard to get to. It wouldn’t be the first time a faint residue had been left over for a few days.

Péter was tempted to yank his hand away just to check but that would only draw attention to it if there was. He forced himself to hold still, as if nothing at all could possibly be wrong.

"We all have our questions to ask of the world, but some of us; some of us are brave enough to seek the answers. And you Péter Rogers are nothing if not brave." Tony declared softly, eyes holding Péter's in a way that made something go loose in his chest and feel close to blubbering like an infant.

"Let Pepper see to that cut on your cheek. She's not any more likely to believe you ran into the garden gate than I am, but she'll worry less."

"What about you?" Péter asked and Tony’s eyebrows arched in faux surprise.

"Me? I'm too old for school in Switzerland."

Péter rolled his eyes, mouth twitching into a grin.

"Maybe. But you're not too old to do what you want." He insisted. "The things in your journal, you could still do them someday."

And he could see it on his face that Tony wasn't taking it seriously, that Tony was going to say something placating and just go back to being sad as if Péter wouldn't notice and he narrowed his eyes at him and fisted his hands.

"If I go to Switzerland, then you can't give up on your ideas. That's the deal or I won't go."

"Really?" Tony scoffed, "you're going to hold your future hostage over some pipe dreams I scribbled in a journal when I couldn't sleep once?"

Péter didn't bother to answer that, just gritted his teeth and waited.

"Alright, I yield. Christ in heaven you Rogers will be the death of me." Tony chuckled into his hands and Péter's face split into an elated grin.

"Well you can't die yet, Tony, or who will convince father to let me go to school?"

"I ought to convince him you need another summer of remedial courses." Tony grumbled, before nodding his head jerkily toward the door. "Go on, out of here with you. And don't forget to see Pepper about that cheek."

Péter promised to do that, but first he had to find the twins. He might never get another chance like today.

 

*~*~*

 

Péter found Pietro first, but the other boy was caught up in a game of catch the chicken with Ian and the younger boys. Pietro was the prized chicken giving the other boys the slip.

Wanda was sitting by herself on the bank, her legs dangling in the water as she stared out over the lake with a blank expression.

Péter approached her hesitantly, not wishing to startle her, but also eager to take the chance to speak with her in a rare moment when her twin was occupied and not glued to her side.

"Hello uh...Anya." He greeted with a small wave, but she didn't turn to look at him, even when he lowered himself into the grass beside her.

"A whole hour of leisure time. We're quite lucky today aren't we?" he tried to open up conversation but the girl just dropped her gaze to the water and hunched her shoulders. She wasn't going to talk to him, Péter realized. Unless...

"Wanda?" He whispered, and the girl’s shoulders tensed. Her whole body went so still Péter thought she might have stopped breathing. "Is that really your name?"

Her wild wide eyes met his for a moment, searching him with a penetrating stare that made him feel as if she could peel back the layers of his skin and see right inside his head before slowly nodding.

"They told us not to use that name... that it was not safe outside of Dachau."

"Is that where you're from?" Péter asked curiously and she shook her head, mouth tightening in a dark scowl.

"No. I am from Aue."

She turned away from him, to end the conversation but Péter couldn't let it go without trying.

"Is that in Austria?"

"Germany."

"So you're German? Uncle Bucky said-"

"I am not German!" Wanda hissed, yanking violently on a fist full of grass until she tore it from the ground and Péter flinched away. She began muttering fiercely in that language that Péter didn't understand, but he got the feeling she wasn't saying anything positive.

"Gadje..." Péter tried the word out after she'd practically spat it at him, heaving the clump of pulled grass into the water. He recognized it he realized with elation. From the story Father had told him and Ian about Baka.

"Gadje, that means not Rom, not Gypsy. Doesn’t it?"

Wanda stilled again, her eyes going wide as her mouth fell open before she snapped it shut and asked, "how do you know that?"

"Cause his father is Rom. Isn’t he _?_ " A dark voice growled behind them and Péter jumped. He hadn't heard Pietro walk up to them, but he was towering over them now, his hands crossed across his chest, looking as if he was considering shoving Péter into the water and trying to strangle him.

Swallowing back any lingering fear Péter nodded, jutting his chin out proudly.

"He is. How did you know?"

Pietro snorted but let the tension drain out of his shoulders as he sauntered closer, lowering himself to the grass beside his sister.

"Only the people can speak Romany and your father speaks to us, though he speaks differently. Our family, we are Sinti. They are cousins to the Roma, but we are all Rom, all family. Bah, what am I saying this to you for? You don't have a clue what I'm talking about do you gadje-boy? " Pietro laughed unkindly and Péter glowered at him.

"Stop it." Wanda muttered, drawing her knees up to her chin with a shudder. "You're being stupid Pietro. You said we could trust them because they are like us!"

"Shit, I'm sorry Wanda. You're right." Pietro immediately changed his tune to something more amiable Péter noticed, as the other boy wrapped his arms around his sister's thin shoulders.

He wondered what his father and Uncle Bucky were supposed to be helping them with.

"Everything is good. We are among friends. We are happy and well fed and soon we will be reunited with Father." Pietro prattled enthusiastically, but rather than cheer Wanda the girl's eyes pricked with tears and she turned away to stare back out at the water.

"I'm not a baby, Pietro. I know they're going to kill him and that we are only waiting to die" she muttered and Péter jerked back in alarm.

"Die?" he gaped. "Why do you think you’re going to die?!"

"What else would a gypsy think in Germany?" Pietro scoffed. "Do you know what the Nazis have done to our people?"

Péter’s memory flashed to the film they’d been taken to see, all about why ethnic Germans had to cleanse themselves of inferior races and how the Reich was making bold strides for all of them. His stomach cramped.

" _Bitcheno pawdel._ City by city, they round up the caravans and take them away." Wanda answered hollowly and Péter nodded slowly, shame pooling low in his stomach.

"I know. They don't want them around anymore so they made them find a home somewhere else. It's ter-"

"A home somewhere else?"  Pietro cut him off, his dark head of hair whipping up as he glared furiously at Péter. The other boy leaned over and spat violently on the ground before he continued. "Is that what they’re calling the camps? Is that what you’d call a place where men and women are piled on top of each other like logs, where they are forced to work until they drop, the women are raped and young and old fester in their own shit until they die of disease? That sounds like a home to you Nazi boy?!"

"Don’t call me that!" Péter snapped immediately in reply, horror warring within him with shame and fury for supremacy. Fury came out on top. He wanted to hit something so badly. Pietro was bigger but Péter wasn't going to back down. Not this time and not ever. And he could see it in Pietro’s eyes, how he wanted to hit Péter too.

“What? You think this fine house and that uniform you wear means nothing? It means you are a Nazi!” Pietro snarled and Péter was sure they would have come to blows until Wanda's hand shot out and gripped his in a death grip. Péter and Pietro both froze, staring at her.

She shook her head slowly and Péter held still captivated as she drew his hand toward the patch of earth she'd yanked up and guided his palm to press it flat upon the dirt.

"Don’t fight each other.” She pleaded so softly he almost didn’t hear it, though she was only inches from him. “They want to bury their sins, but what the soil swallows the people must keep alive in memory."

With her free hand she tapped the side of her mouth before she pleaded once more.

"My mother's name was Anya Maximoff. She was a Sinti woman and she died trying to protect me and my brother. Will you remember her with me?”

Péter was confused, frightened and horrified by the things that Peitro had said, but Wanda’s eyes held his without judgment and his heart twisted at the naked grief he saw in them. He nodded yes, though he had no idea what it was she wanted him to do.

It became clear though as she began to speak that all she needed from him was to listen.

“Mother was the daughter of the _drabarni_ , the wise woman, as was her mother before her and her mother before her. She was clever and kind, and good at reading people. She always knew when others told untruths or when they were trying to cheat her. She knew the plants, and how to draw illnesses from the body to keep the caravan healthy.  

“To make money for the familia she told fortunes to the gadje wherever they went. She said it was easy to tell a gadje their fortune because they all want to hear the same thing. 'They will be loved one day, they will be admired and respected, and grow rich as Mitus.’ Most importantly, they want it to be easy."  
  
Wanda paused to make a funny face and startled a laugh out of Péter, who was amazed to see the girls mouth stretch in the closest thing he'd seen to a smile in all the time she’d been with them. Smiling she continued.

"My mother was gifted. Sometimes she saw things. Felt things.  It was not the trick she played on the gadje. Her mother called it sight. Mama called it intuition, but her people knew to respect it and her, whatever its name. The gadje called her a witch, but she did not mind. She used to say, 'the men won't bother a witch, and they are so much quicker to do as you say'. She did not trust men. I don’t think she ever thought to really fall in love, but she did.

“My father, Dr. Leshnerr is a good man. He studies genetic mutations. My mother knew he was right the moment she saw him. Many people chase the caravans away or set the police on them, but my father showed them kindness and offered them space on his land in the woods of Aue. When he and Mama fell in love it was decided that their union was clean. It helped I think, that there was no one yet who could take Mama’s place. My brother and I were born in summer and for many years everyone was very happy."

Wanda paused again taking a breath before continuing her story.

"Sometimes the caravan would travel away from Aue. I think these times were hard on my father, but he understood my mother's need to be with her people. I missed him terribly, but I knew that we would always find our way back to him. Along our way Mama would leave messages for other caravans, directing them toward the little cabin in the deep of the woods of Aue where my father lived. A mark like this means shelter..."

 Péter watched in amazement as slowly she dragged his finger through the dirt and etched the symbol of an oval with a dot in the center.

"The club means danger. This is a town better avoided. They will send their police to round you up, and they will ship you to the mines where you will be forced to work until you die. The cup means there is water, the loaf means food, and the sun means much money have I made here. It is a town rich in recourses and foolish gadje. The arrow tells you which direction to go." She explained as she took him through the motions of each symbol. When she was done she released his hand and Péter raised it to his face, staring at the blackened pad of his forefinger as if there were some magic there.

"Our mother taught us how to read the signs." Pietro said in a very subdued tone, drawing Péter's attention. "She said we'd need it one day. When we were alone. She said it would guide us to safety and that when we came to another caravan we must say, _nai man kumpania_."

"Nai man...kumpania." Péter sounded it out slowly. "What does it mean?"

"It means you have no family." Wanda's eyes lifted from the dirt and caught his. Their dark pools looked bottomless as she stared into him and continued to speak, softly and slowly.

"The day before the soldiers came to take Father away – Mama woke me early and took me out to the trees behind our cabin and made me show her that I still remembered what she’d taught us. She told me she’d dreamed Pietro and I were lost and needed to find home. She told me that for the Rom all children belong to the people, and that the first man I said those words to would welcome me into his family. But Pietro and I aren't going back to the familia."

Péter blinked as a strange hardness entered Wanda's tone, and her eyes narrowed with conviction.

"Wanda." Peitro laid a consoling hand on her shoulder once more. "What have I told you? We've escaped the Nazis. Soon father will join us and then - "

"And then we will be with Father in England, and we will not see familia again for a long time. Maybe never." Wanda interjected with that same eerier certainty. "It's going to be alright Pietro. I see that now. Mama’s dream wasn’t meant for us at all."

Péter could not explain it, but a foreboding prickle went down his spine as Wanda turned away from them both, and got to her feet, not bothering to brush the dirt off her skirts as she began to walk back towards the house.

"What does she mean?" His eyes flew to Pietro who shrugged, the other boy grumbling lowly.

"Wanda has always seen the world differently. It's worse now since Dachau. The doctors there wanted to study us and Papa couldn't always stop them."

That cold sensation creeping up and down Péter's spine had turned into an outright chill, deep in his bones but Pietro said nothing more about it. Silently the other boy shrugged again, climbing to his feet to follow after his sister.

 

*~*~*

“Spare a mark sir?”

The boy leaning against the brick façade of the hotel exterior jutted one blunt nailed hand in front of Stefen, baring his entry into the bar. It was a strategy Steve recognized from his own days of begging, which forced the person to either nock you aside or dig in their pockets for some coin to give you. Stefen had suffered many bruised wrists in his day, but for every bastard willing to smack some young boys hand out of his way there was some soft-hearted woman to chastise him.

Steve looked the boy over, taking in his well-worn trousers and too big shoes. They looked to be for someone twice his age, but they were sturdy enough and looked like they’d survive long enough for him to grow into. Stefen could well imagine that he must have stuffed them full of newspaper to make up the difference.

“If I give you five mark will you do something for me?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion but Steve could see the interest that sparked behind their cagey gleam.

“What sorta job?” the boy asked. His heavy French accent made his German sound thick and clumsy. It made Stefen think wistfully of an old friend, someone he hadn’t seen since the war. And given the state of things, Steve privately thought with a pang that he was not likely to ever see Dernier again.

“Get yourself a pair of shoes that fit and cut that hair.” Steve smiled wryly as the boy scowled placing a protective hand ontop his head of dark blond hair. He still snatched the bill from Steve’s hand readily enough, stuffing it quickly into his pocket and running off, likely so that Steve wouldn’t have time to change his mind about giving him such a large sum.

Shaking his head Steve turned and entered the bar.

*~*

“Relax Stevie you look as twitchy as a hare.” Bucky mumbled out of the side of his mouth as he sidled up to the bar. Steve tore his eyes away from the door of the hotel bar, gritting his teeth in irritation as Bucky ordered a drink, still pretending not to know him.

Two nights ago Stefen had received a call in his office, a welcome distraction from the argument Tony had insisted upon having (despite every warning to just let the matter rest). Steve had been expecting word from one of his contacts at the immigration office on the possibility of procuring papers for the twins but instead it had been a man from the Abwehr, the office of counterespionage within the German defense department. On paper their purpose was to defend Germany from foreign espionage (among other things) but no one believed for a minute that the intelligence office wasn’t heavily involved in a little espionage of its own, treaty or no treaty.

Herr Coulson had asked to meet with him in two days’ time, hinting that the intelligence office would like to discuss a potential assignment with him. The question was of course whether or not Stefen believed them. This could of course be some sort of trap. Likely was. There were at least a dozen very good reasons for the Abwehr to take an interest in Stefen’s activities and every last one of them would see him and Bucky both meeting a firing squad. The conundrum was, that if the Abwehr had evidence already he and Bucky would have already been arrested, but if this was an attempt to collect evidence Stefen couldn’t turn the meeting down without drawing further suspicion.

Which was what found him two days later, a loyal officer waiting at an out of the way hotel bar in Vienna for a meeting with a possible spy. Bucky had refused to let him go alone and had arrived at the bar ten minutes after Stefen to keep up appearances. But they might as well have walked in together because it was almost twenty minutes past the designated meeting time and Coulson had yet to make an appearance.

Steve was twitchy, sure that at any moment he would hear the warning signal and that the gestapo would be breaking down the doors. He couldn’t stop wondering if these were his last moments of freedom and thinking that Tony had been horribly right about what he’d said. Steve’s war with the Nazis would cost him his life and he was going to leave his children alone and unprotected. He could have begged Margrit’s parents to take them all. He’d always said he couldn’t bear the thought of sending the children to live with cold hearted relatives to be looked down upon and treated like a burden, but really it was his pride that had stood in the way. After they’d snubbed all but Natacha the thought of getting on his knees for them had just been unbearable.

He’d said he’d never beg again after his father had turned him and Bucky out to starve. It still boggled the mind, how anyone could turn away their own flesh and blood.

_‘But what do you expect from gadje? They don’t understand family.’_

Some old bitterness whispered through the back of his mind and Steve clenched his jaw, resolutely pushing the thought away. He was beginning to think too much like Bucky, who wanted the comforts of a gadje life but not to belong. In Bucky’s mind, exile or no exile, they would always be Rom and it would always be us against them. But it didn’t have to be that way. People were better than that. They could find a way to all live together. Besides, who said it was so great being Rom anyway? Steve wasn’t ashamed of it but there was no point in acting as if the Roma didn’t have their backwards ways or their faults. The way his mother’s people had shunned her just for falling in love with someone different for instance. It just wasn’t right, that even if Tony had been a girl the familia would have rejected them both because he wasn’t Rom.  

Tony. The man’s face flashed through Stefen’s mind and his chest tightened with fear and longing. What would Tony do if Steve was arrested? Go back to the abbey he supposed… but it was such a waste. Somehow the thought of their vivacious little monk cloistered behind thick stone walls made him angry. Surely the Abbot wouldn’t allow him to chatter through breakfast, running commentary on all the mornings news. Silent meals seamed more in keeping with what monks got up to but Steve just couldn’t imagine Tony living that way. Didn’t want to. It upset him to think of Tony alone, with no one to listen to his ever-growing list of things that needed inventing: tubs that washed the clothing for you, soap that didn’t scald the hands, stoves you could carry with you, a way to harness nuclear energy and turn it into electricity, a way to keep ice that didn’t involve wielding a chisel. Tony was so full of life, full of heat and spark and smoke and flash. He just didn’t belong in a damn abbey!

Truthfully, Steve was afraid to admit where he thought Tony belonged. Truthfully, Stefen could have married Charlotte and sent his family to safety ages ago. But selfishly, he’d balked at the thought of marrying a woman he didn’t love when there was already someone else consuming his thoughts.

 “Do you think this might be our end of the line?” Steve asked, gazed fixed straight ahead and beside him Bucky’s glass clinked on the countertop.

“Might be.” He grunted after a long moment.

“Do you think they’ll forgive me someday, Tony and the children?” he muttered the question darkly into his drink and Bucky looked up from lighting a cigarette to give him a sour look, abandoning pretense. Steve wished he wouldn’t smoke. He’d always had something of a sensitive nose and the smell of the things clung to everything.

“What the fuck are you talking like that for?” Bucky grumbled. “It’s done Stefen. You did the best you could.”

 “No. I didn’t.” Steve refuted with a grunt of his own. He appreciated Bucky’s solidarity but it was obvious to them both wasn’t it?

“But as you said. It’s done.”

Bucky didn’t bother to deny it. Instead he slung an arm around Steve’s shoulder and plucked the cigarette from his mouth, tilting his head back to release a slow steady stream of smoke.

“Te merav, te prakhon man pasho o dei.”

_May I die and be buried close to my mother._

The old saying hung heavily between them, bittersweet and perfect, and Steve thought that he couldn’t have loved Bucky more than he did, sitting in the middle of that dusty bar drinking cheap liquor and breathing in his smoke. Bucky turned and blew smoke in his face like the over grown child that he was, grinning with boyish delight at Steve’s grimace. Steve grumbled playfully, with the heavy swell off affection filling his chest and shoved the man’s face away.

 “Jal avree.”

 _Go away._                                                                

Bucky laughed and squeezed his shoulder.

“Captain Rogers and Herr Bakhuizen I presume?” a voice inquired behind them and Stefen’s neck prickled, his whole body going suddenly tense. Still he turned slowly, almost idlily. The man who had approached them immediately struck Steve as non-assuming. Slight of build with thinning medium brown hair, he wore a well pressed suit suitable for any man of business but to Steve his grey eyes looked uncommonly calculating. His gut told him this was the man they’d been waiting for but he’d not seemed all that surprised by Bucky’s presence there and that was alarming. It meant they’d been watching Stefen far longer than he’d anticipated.

“Who is asking?” Steve asked. True to habit Bucky let Steve take point, his keen eyes observing the newcomer closely as he took lazy puffs on his cigarette.

“My name is Filip Coulson.” Coulson extended his hand for a shake which Steve took and shook firmly, his suspicions confirmed doing nothing to ease the tension coiled tightly within his stomach.

“You’re late Herr Coulson.” Steve remarked and though his expression didn’t change Steve thought there was a thread of amusement in Coulson’s tone as he replied.

“My apologies, I couldn’t find my favorite tie. Shall we find a seat gentleman?”

Steve nodded and abandoned his seat at the bar, striding through the semi-crowded room towards a secluded booth near the back. He’d chosen the location for the meeting carefully because he knew the exits as well as the man who ran the establishment. If Coulson was surprised by his taking charge he didn’t show it, taking the seat Steve and Bucky left open for him. It left him with his back to the doorway, and Steve was no highly trained secret agent but he thought the man had to know. Even so Coulson accepted it, his calm demeanor never wavering.

“You don’t seem all that surprised that I have company,” Steve opened, taking the reins of the conversation and hoping to catch the man off guard. Something told him Filip Coulson was a man rarely caught off guard however.

“My office has been watching you a long-time Captain Rogers.”  Coulson answered with surprising bluntness, that light thread of amusement returning to his tone as he added, “I thought you’d appreciate honesty if we’re going to be working together. We intended for Herr Bakhuizen to eventually be brought into these talks anyway, but I did expect this outcome, yes.  It is nice to see that the assessment on you holds up.”

Steve narrowed his eyes.

“You have someone spying on me.”  It was a statement rather than a question because Coulson had already admitted as much, but Steve knew it went deeper than that. It was in the man’s confidence. Coulson believed he knew enough about Steve to have the upper hand, to know what moves he’d make. You didn’t get that simply by watching someone’s movements, you did it by getting close. Someone close to him was watching him. _Assessing_ him.

Coulson paused, and Steve got the sense that this time he really was a little taken aback. Many people made the mistake of thinking that he and Bucky were just two dull witted soldiers, only good for shooting their way through things. When would these people get it through their heads that it took brains to lead men through a war zone and get them home?

Steve waited while Coulson considered his answer. They both knew how he answered would decide a lot.

“Yes.” The man finally decided upon, and Steve couldn’t say that there wasn’t a bit of surprise. He’d honestly expected some sort of lie. “There was someone placed on your case for a time. You needn’t worry. He’s become compromised and unfortunately has to be retired.”

Compromised? Retired? Now what did any of that mean? Steve supposed it had been too good to be true to think that he was going to get out of a conversation with the intelligence office without wading through some riddles.

“Why?” Bucky asked, ever the straight shooter. When he had Coulson’s attention he gestured aggressively with his cigarette between himself and Stefen. “You want something from us or you wouldn’t go through all that trouble of spying on the captain. So what is it?”

“What if I told you we want your help taking down the Nazis?” Coulson, switching abruptly to polish, sat up straighter and leaned closer. His voice was too soft and even for the suddenly dire nature of the conversation but given its subject matter Steve understood why he would take careful pains for it not to carry.

“I’d say you’re full of shit.” Bucky countered with a snort, his Polish far better than the English they used a lot within the network.

“I’d probably shoot you.” Steve joined in with a pointed stare at Coulson. He and Bucky weren’t going to be so easily trapped as that. There was no telling what sort of recording devices the man might have hidden in the pockets of his suit jacket.

“Ah. I figured you might feel that way.” Coulson made to reach inside his jacket and Stefen tensed, hand immediately moving towards the pistol in his pocket. Bucky, the far quicker hand with a gun, barely seemed to move but somehow he had his gun in his hand before Coulson could even get his hand in his pocket. The agent paused, staring at the pistol Bucky had pointed towards him.

“I’ve a letter for you from an old friend. May I?”

“Sure.” Bucky answered with a lazy smile and Steve didn’t protest. Coulson slowly withdrew a small envelope and slid it across the table towards Steve.

It was not addressed, but it was stamped rather surprisingly with a familiar seal.  Steve had seen it before, on the letters that had come from Father Farkas at St. Péter’s Abbey when he’d first inquired about a tutor.

They had to get someone close to him, that voice whispered again in the back of his mind, his heart twisting painfully in his chest in realization.

Steve cracked the seal on the envelope and withdrew the letter.

 

_Dear Captain Rogers,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. It has been many years since I saw your fair country. I find myself longing for those pleasant days I spent in Austria after liberation, believe that or not. My brothers here at the Abbey would hardly believe it, but then to them everything to do with the Great War is a bitter memory best left behind us. Much of that past is indeed bitter, but still it must be remembered or else we become blind. I fear many have become blinded to the disease that now spreads in Europe. They will not see what we see, that another great war stands before us if greater men do not act._

_This letter should find its way to you through the hands of those of us at the Holy Church who, like I, recognize that it is their Christian duty to act in the best interest of all God’s children. Many of us have volunteered to help the Abwehr in their mission to free the German peoples of this Nazi menace. For their safety, I will not list their names here but I have heard it goes all the way up to the Holy See._

_It was I who suggested that the Abwehr seek you out, Captain. They have their reservations given your standing within the German Army and the amount of time it has been since we last spoke. They say time changes a man. But it is my hope that the man I knew during my days as a prisoner has not changed where it matters most. That man taught me that no man is truly an enemy until he ceases to value what makes us men. We come from different countries but we share a world. We are more alike than we are different. That man knows the value of life and I know he will protect it just as he protected mine._

_God go with you,_

_Jacques._

Throat tight with emotion Steve silently folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. It would have to be burned he knew, but he was loath to do it. Glad that at least for a little while he could keep his old friend’s words close to his chest.

“The little French boy outside, he was a nice touch.” Steve grunted and for the first-time Coulson’s lips stretched into a visible smile.

“A little warm up never hurts.”

“Right. So you say you’re going to take down the Nazis. How?” Steve pushed down the emotions that Dernier’s letter had dug up, needing a clear head and focus.

“We’ve been in contact with foreign governments through the help of the church and other operatives.” Coulson explained. “The rest of the world is not interested in a costly war and many leaders within the German Army find themselves wary of a war they fear Germany can’t win.”

“Who is we?” Steve asked.

“Captain you know I can’t give you names.”

“It is clear that some deeper conspiracy is at work here. It must involve some very high-ranking officials in the German Army if the Abwehr are involved and able to move around so freely. It’s too organized not to come from those at the very top. So you’ll give me what I ask or this conversation is done.”  

Coulson pursed his lips and considered Steve for a long pensive moment. Steve returned his stare easily until finally, Coulson relented.

“My orders come directly from Hans Mayer. I can’t tell you anything else.”

“Mayer?” Bucky gapped. “You mean the Chief of the Abwehr?”

“If you repeat that to anyone else it will be staunchly denied,” Coulson answered crisply. “You will be considered a threat to our operation. I don’t need to warn you what happens then.”

“James and I have no interest in undermining your organization. But what is it you need from us?”

“Well, to be frank Captain…” Coulson paused for what seemed like an unnecessarily dramatic amount of time and Steve grit his teeth.

“We’d like you to kill Hitler.”

~*~*~*~

Bucky gave a heaving sigh as soon as he and Steve had left the bar. Beside him Steve reached into his jacket, fishing out the pack of cigarettes he kept there by habit and handing them over to Bucky. Steve rarely indulged but he knew that Bucky went through his smokes like they were mother’s milk. Bucky nodded silently in gratitude and pulled out two, sticking one into his mouth and jerking his head toward the ally.  Steve followed him wordlessly and Bucky found a cleaner looking section of wall to lean on as he lit up, the silence hanging heavy between them.

"Assassination?" he murmured after a few moments more of tense silence. Steve jerked and looked up from where he'd been fixated, presumably staring at the flaws in the brick work, to nod. He eyed Bucky's face thoughtfully as he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded again, slowly with that tell tale set to his jaw. Ah fuck.

Bucky blew out a slow breath releasing a plume of smoke as his fingers tapped on the fag he held with an agitated beat. 

"Right, alright, right." He rubbed his free hand over his mouth. His eyes were stinging, and probably too wide. He knew he looked and sounded like a crazy man right now, but this was big.

"Right." They were going to assassinate the Fuhrer.

Christ. Just thinking it left him breathless, the fear clawing at his throat and the adrenaline spiking through his veins. It was a suicide mission. If this went tits up (oh and there were a hundred different ways) they’d be better off dead than being taken in by the police.

"Right" he sighed once more, taking a deep calming drag on his cigarette.

When he looked up Steve was watching him with a stillness that made every nerve in Bucky’s body go quiet. He stopped twitching and nearly stopped breathing altogether as Steve gave him a small smile and murmured lowly in Romany, "It doesn’t get any easier the more you say it Buck. Trust me, I tried." 

Bucky barked a humorless laugh. Little shit was right though wasn’t he? Nothing about this felt right and no amount of gabbing was going to change that. Fuck.

Scowling Bucky took another drag, giving up on finding any sort of peace with the idea. 

So that was it then. The last hope for Germany rested on the Abwehr, and the church was full of spies. Now he’d seen everything. And to think they’d been watching Steve all this time. God damn but he'd known Stark was a snake!

Bucky mentally kicked himself for extending a truce between them (and against his better judgment too). It was only a thin relief that Stark was, for all instance and purposes, on their side. He was still a lair and deviant little bastard whose motives couldn’t be trusted. They were all just lucky Stark had decided to go against the Reich. It left Bucky cold thinking what Stark’s intellect could achieve for the wrong sorts of people. With a brain like that in the Reich, Stark could easily be the down fall of any resistance. And looking at Steve in the dimly lit alley, staring back at Bucky so solemnly, he couldn’t help but think that Stark was going to be their down fall no matter what side he was on. 

Bucky shivered and Steve moved closer, the lamp post light catching his hair, making it bright and staining it gold as he ducked his head. Hard to imagine the man in front of him had blossomed from the runt Bucky’s mother had given him to watch over. It was no wonder to Bucky that the Germans tripped all over themselves to adore him, but Bucky would be lying if he said he’d never felt a curl of envy about it.

Why not? People looked at Bucky and saw difference and a reason for suspicion. They looked at Steve and saw their ideals. Even though he and Bucky shared the same blood (same people) fate had given Steve his very own disguise in the face of a gadje.

 Of course he’d felt envious at times, but they were shallow and fleeting moments. Steve’s fair face and golden head was not all blessing. Bucky’s mother had called it the curse of halves, always being a part of something but never whole. Over the years Bucky had witnessed firsthand the pain Stefen had endured, torn between his two parts. Everybody had their curses to bear.      

"I should go and get things in order. You should keep the room tonight. " Steve said into the silence. A beginning and a declaration all in one. That was how they worked. Steve left home in search of work and Bucky followed to watch his back. Steve joined the army and Bucky had his back there too. Only this time, Steve decided he was the man to take down Hitler and Bucky maybe didn’t follow. Steve never left him without a choice.

Christ.

He blew out more smoke and coughed into his hand. Right, well he’d had his wallow. There were things to be done.

"Can’t. I'm off to see our guy and get the papers for the twins." 

Steve blew out a breath of his own, his shoulders relaxing their tension.

"Stefen."

Steve hummed in acknowledgment, looking back up him from where he was fishing idly in his pocket for their room key. Agreeing to a suicide mission or not Bucky wasn’t going to let Steve off the hook that easy.

"Stark. You know what you gotta do."

And damn, there Steve went with that tilt to his head. The slight one that meant he was already half way to not listening and plowing on with his own plans. Stubborn bastard.

Beside him Steve didn’t move. Instead he took a measured breath and gazed off. Just for a moment his expression changed. Only for a second, it was there and then gone but Bucky could have sworn he saw it. Defiance. The hell?

"We don't know he's the-" Steve started, and Bucky gaped.

"Fuck if we don’t Steve!" he interrupted angrily "Don't kid yourself here." 

True to form, Steve straightened up and fixed Bucky with a first-rate glare.

"I'll handle it, but right now-"

"Oh fucking hell-" Bucky groaned, because he was doing it. Steve was digging his heels in and refusing to hear any sense but his own. Over _Stark_! A man he’d known a handful of months whom Coulson had all but admitted was a spy planted in his home.

"No, fuck you, Buck." Steve hissed in reply. "I said I'll handle it and I will." 

Bucky's cigarette snapped between his fingers and he dropped it, crushing it under his heel viscously.

"Steve, we gotta plan that don't involve him. He's a liability. On his best fucking day!"

"Tony's not with the gestapo" Steve insisted stubbornly, like the world was easily split between good people and gestapo.

"He's not with _you_ either. What do you really know about him? Nothing, clearly, cuss he's a spy!" Bucky spat. "Christ, Steve. Focus on the plan, not on his cock-"

"Enough!" Steve snapped, pounding a hand against the brick and pushing himself away from the wall.

"Say that again and I'll put you on your back!"

Bucky threw back his head and laughed.

"Ha! I'm not the one you want on their back!"

He knew he was asking for a smack in the teeth so he ducked, but he wasn't quite fast enough to escape the cuff to the back of his head. Cursing under his breath Bucky stumbled and blinked the stars from his eyes. Shit, alright maybe it was time for a new tactic. He didn’t care so much about the fighting (boys in the familia learned young you had to fight for just about everything and if you couldn’t fight with your brother who could you fight with) but alley or not, blowing their tops and brawling in the street was going to attract the wrong kind of attention.

Bucky put his hands up in and shrugged his surrender and Steve backed off, though he fixed him with a gaze as steely as ice, with no room for argument. Bucky fought back the urge to smile at the big idiot and sighed. Because Steve really had stuffed his brain in his cock and somebody had to make him see sense.

"Steve, you can’t think it was anything more than a job. Stark seems a decent enough fellow, I'll give him that, and he's not done wrong by the kids. But I'd put money down that he’s long gone before you even make it home.”

Steve's face drained of what little color was left. "What?"

"I mean he probably knows where you've been. He's not going to stick around waiting for the shoe to drop." Bucky insisted as gently as he could manage because Steve was taking this whole thing much harder than he’d expected. Bucky privately didn’t think he was that lucky but he hoped he was right. Stark had proven himself scrappy and the first rule of being scrappy was being smart. The second was saving your own skin, which was pretty much the first rule. With any luck Stark had packed his bags as soon as Steve had left to meet Coulson and was long gone by now. Of course, then there was Steve who was a rule breaker on the best of days Bucky thought with tired amusement. With Bucky’s luck the idiot would just do something crazy like go after him.

And then there was Bucky himself. He didn’t seem to be doing so well in the following rules department either.  Still, a fella could try.

"Stevie he’s too dangerous to keep around and you know I’m right.” Bucky tried once more, lighting up his second cigarette. “I've never seen you throw away logic like you do when it comes to him.”       

Bucky snapped out his lighter and took a long drag of this second cigarette. Steve was still, silent and brooding but that was a better sign than not. Bucky could only hope. Any moment his prala would see sense and relent. Any, fucking moment and not a moment too soon.

Stark really had done a number on him. Bucky didn’t understand it but he had decided long ago that Steve being _mahrim_ (twice over) was unimportant to him, but it didn't shake the feelings of foreboding or the fear surrounding the old teachings. At best Steve’s bewitchment with the monk was bad luck and frankly they needed all the luck they could get.  

"You know what you gotta do," he repeated, staring hard at Steve in the dim light. 

Steve was looking down, frowning at the cobblestone, his shoulders tense and heavy once more. Even though his gaze was directed away from Bucky the lost expression that passed over his face, open and pained, didn’t escape him. Bucky’s stomach twisted with something too close to guilt for his liking and he clenched his teeth.

"I do." Steve said tightly, looking up with a hard jerk of his head, resettling back into the man the world knew as Captain Rogers. He pinned Bucky with one last look, murmuring, "And you’d do well to remember that" before he turned and walked back into the street.

"Basht, Stevie." Bucky called as Steve's  form disappeared into the crowed.  

Right, Bucky thought as he watched Steve disappear into the crowd. Steve was going to handle it.

This was going to be a first-class shit show.

~*~*~*~

“But why aren't there any crustaceans in our lake?” Artur scrunched up his face and tugged at Steve's sleeve impatiently. Steve stumbled over the boy for the second time and quickly righted himself, taking in a deep breath to rein in his temper. The dark cloud that had hung over Steve his entire drive home was not Artur’s fault. He'd purposely gone a longer route on the way home, his thoughts turning over in a jumble, always coming back to Tony. By the time he'd parked and handed over his motorbike to Hogan he'd not come any closer to a decision on what to do. The only thing he knew for certain was that he needed to see him. Steve had come striding through the back door, intent on finding Tony and confronting him but Artur had been there in the kitchen with Willamina getting a snack and was now all worked up about some water creature Tony had been teaching the children about.

The girls were being given a bath by Julia or one of the other maids and with all the passion of a sibling abandoned Artur had hurled himself at Steve and had barely paused for breath since.

It was dizzying trying to keep up with the boy’s chatter. Steve caught himself wishing that Bucky had come home with him. It had always been easier to arrange his thoughts against Bucky’s stubborn opposition, even when his advice stung. Sometimes especially then.  

When Steve failed to muster up some sort of reply to whatever it was he was nattering on about Artur clutched his leg with even more force and turned large pleading eyes on him. 

Steve clenched his teeth and told his son in what he hoped was a calm tone, to kindly let go of his leg. But Artur barley batted an eye squeezing Steve's leg impossibly tighter and bouncing on the balls of his feet as Steve gave up and maneuvered around him to remove his jacket and hand it to Hammer to be put it away.  

“But where are the crustaceans!” Artur was demanding.

What the hell was a crustacean, anyway?

“I don't know, have you looked upstairs?” Steve answered wearily.

Artur frowned and butted Steve's leg with his head. Even from his vantage point Steve could see the deep frown on Artur's little face.  

“Nooo, I have to look in the lake. They live in the water! But Tony’s busy and he said not to bother Pepper." Artur admitted, pouting into stave's leg. Steve swallowed down the pang of pain at the silly little pet name Artur had picked up from Tony and pushed his fingers through the child’s soft hair. The children adored Tony. They’d be devastated if he left. At least he hadn’t left already like Bucky had predicted. At least Steve didn’t think he had. He couldn’t imagine that Tony would leave without saying goodbye to the children.

"Vati. Will you help me look?” Artur pleaded, stepping in front of Steve when he tried to move again. Steve stumbled and bit back a curse. 

“Artur, I have-”

“Please! Sarò una buona patatino”  

Steve stumbled to a halt and looked down at him. Artur blinked back and gave him his best smile.

It was strange to hear the Italian slip off his son’s tongue. Tony had been very busy indeed.  

He ruffled Arturs hair and leaned down slightly so that their faces were closer.

"When did you learn to speak so well?" he asked. 

Artur grinned at him and swung Steve's arm back and forth like it was a skipping rope. 

“Don't be silly, Vati. Tony taught me.” 

A smile tugged at his lips.

“I asked when, arty. Not who.”

Artur frowned and continued to swing Steve's arm, thinking deeply about the question.

“Since yesterday. I think. I got a good score on my test because I practice. That’s why I need to find the crustaceans. I need to study them and Mon Amie needs a friend. He’s all alone when I’m exploring. May we please, vati? I've never held one.” he asked Steve shyly looking up at him from under his lashes.

Steve swung him up into his arms and leveled with Artur's very serious expression. His little body was warm against Steve's chilled skin and he shifted hoping the rough canvas of his uniform didn’t scratch Artur's newly clean skin. The thought of blundering around in the dark looking for whatever the hell a crustacean was after everything else that had happened that day seemed impossible. But Artur was so hopeful, blinking at him and wiggling in anticipation.

“Perhaps after dinner.” Steve sighed. He needed to speak to Tony. Now. 

“In the dark?” Artur exclaimed, wrinkling his nose incredulously. 

“You don't think I can't find a crusty…?

“Crustacean,” Artur supplied primly, doing a very fair impression of Virginia. Steve grinned.

“Thank you. A Crustacean in my own lake. I can find anything.” He teased.

“You can't find me in the dark.” Artur shot back, giggling. Steve leaned his forehead against Artur's, melancholy returning at the boys innocent words to lay heavy on his shoulders.

"I could find you anywhere” he promised lowly.

Artur nodded, his fingers fiddling idly with Steve's shirt collar. 

“Can Maria and Tony come too? I want them to but not Sara, she's too little.” 

Steve’s throat tightened. He couldn’t think of a thing to say. Only that he couldn’t let go.

Letting Tony go now that he was such a part of the house would be just as difficult as letting Sam go had been, or letting Virginia or Hogan go, only worse. It would be the feeling of trying to cut off the flow of blood with a tourniquet. Raw pain with no easing the ache. Steve let out a long breath. His chest felt tight, as if he might start wheezing again the way he had when he was Artur’s size.

He wanted to see Tony even though it was the last thing he should want. But then again he wanted a lot of things. He wanted to hold himself up in his office and sleep for years. He wanted so many things that were out of reach. He shook his head and forced a smile on his face.

“Where is our monk anyway?”

Artur frowned at him.

“Don't you hear the music? He's playing in the music room.”

As if coming up from water the sound of Peggy's piano floated through the air and a shiver ran down Steve's spine. How long had Tony been playing he wondered. He should have heard it. What was wrong with him?  Fear spiked through him, hot and tangy. Bucky was right. He was too distracted when he needed to be sharp and focused. He had to clear his mind.

Steve squeezed Artur closer and whispered, “Shell we give him a visit?” 

It was not his intended strategy to take Artur with him. Something about confronting Tony in front of the children (even just one of them) seemed too manipulative. Tony cared deeply for them and Artur’s presence might prompt Tony to lie and Steve needed the truth from him. The truth because without it he had no other choice but to remove him from his family. 

But Artur clung tightly to him, unwilling to be moved, and Steve forced himself to put one foot after the other as they made their way to the music room.

They found Tony bent over the piano, concentrating fully on the music he was plying from its keys. Over the weeks the sharp pang Steve felt every time he heard the sound of his wife’s piano being played after all these years had lessoned into a dull thud, like a bruise, but it ached sharply now for an entirely different reason. Tony and the children had slowly infiltrated the room.

He found he couldn’t quite think of it in terms of only Peggy's anymore. Now it belonged to Maria as she plinked out chords and made her way up and down the scales under Tony’s watchful eye. Now it belonged to Tony as he coached the children, or like now when he came to savor a rare moment of solitude, performing old songs from memory and getting lost in them.

Steve reached out before he could stop himself and Tony’s shoulder jumped as Steve’s fingers brushed him. He hadn't meant to reach out but it seemed he never could do what he ought to with Tony. 

“I see he found you. He’s been waiting for you for hours, haven't you?” Tony said with a fond smile as he looked over his shoulder at Steve and Artur. Steve’s breath caught a little in his throat. Artur, for his part, laid his head on Steve's shoulder and nodded. 

“May we?” Steve asked for lack of anything better to say, gesturing to a nearby settee. Tony flipped his hand at him, indicating that they should sit, before his fingers returned to swishing over the keys. 

Steve sat heavily, wrapping his arms around Artur’s middle. Artur rested his head against Steve's chest, fingers playing with the hand wrapped around his middle. Six months ago he wouldn’t have been able to handle sitting like this, everything in his body telling him to move, muscles unable to stay still. If this were six months ago Artur wouldn’t be anywhere near him. Grip tightening around him Steve sighed and shifted Artur so that he could sit next to him more comfortably, but something about Stefen’s mood must have rubbed off on him because Artur whined softly and clamped onto him with surprising strength.

Tony had turned his attention back to his music, his back straight and fingers flying over the keys. Something must be bothering him, Steve thought. There was a way Tony had of coaxing the music out of the piano that perfectly illustrated his moods. Something in the way he could make the music sore and dip that always spoke louder than anything Tony might say.

Artur and Steve sat and listened as Tony played on the notes rising in a swirling heart pounding rush until they finally changed, slowing to a more mellow thoughtful sound. 

Steve looked up to find Tony watching them out of the corner of his eye.

“Artur, I think you ought to get ready for dinner” Tony announced suddenly.

Artur shook his head and snuggled closer to Steve’s chest. 

“Fathers not ready.” The boy petulantly replied.

“True, but I need to speak with your father.”

Artur looked up, waiting for Steve to counter. Steve held Tony's gaze a moment longer and then looked down into his son’s concerned blue eyes.

“You heard him. Go get ready, you should have a proper meal before we go hunting.”

Artur beamed and scrambled off of Steve's lap.

"Are you coming to dinner?" He eyed Steve's uniform suspiciously. "I want you to come to dinner." 

"I always eat with you. When I can." Steve amended when Artur frowned at him. "Go get ready, Artur."

Stefen turned back to Tony. He needed to get this over with, better sooner than later. 

"Stark-" he began but Artur wasn’t finished. The boy was level enough with Steve who was still seated to grab his chin and force his gaze away from Tony. Steve tensed in surprise, thankfully that he didn’t instinctively lash out. Artur held Steve's face, serious blue eyes gazing back at him.

"Don't lie." The little boy said, mater of fact. 

Steve blinked at him, completely taken aback. Over the soft music Steve could hear Tony snort.

 "You don't ever wear your uniform to dinner.” Artur pointed out. “You go get ready too and come eat with us, vati. Please? Maria is starting to miss you. We can spend the whole day together."

"The days mostly over, Arty." Steve pointed out.

"Then the rest of it!" He huffed looking over at Tony for confirmation that he'd made sense. Tony nodded, a wane little smile on his face.

Artur nodded again, emboldened "Please!"

Steve carefully pulled his hands away and gave in.

"Alright, alright. Go get ready."

He swatted Artur's bottom gently and Artur scrambled out of the room, grinning from ear to ear in triumph. 

“Hunting? “Tony asked into the silence. Steve resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands. He leaned forward watching the door creek nearly closed.

“Artur wants to go to the lake tonight,” he answered offhandedly. 

Tony’s frown deepened.

 “Is that safe at this hour?” 

Steve shrugged, turning back to him.

“I’ll be with him.”

Steve winced as Tony hit a sour note, the muscles in his back inching back toward rim rod straight. 

“You’ll be with him.” Tony muttered under his breath, the music spilling out now in oily black notes.

“Right, because you can do anything, all on your own. Even stop a war.”

So that was how Tony wanted this to go. Steve clenched his jaw.

“History proves otherwise, Stark.” 

If Tony noticed the change in address he didn't show it. He continued to play with the same finesse as before, the careful timber of the piano slow enough to rake Steve's nerves.  Enough of this.

“I've often wondered why a man of your skill chose to work with children, Stark. Or was it because they're my children?”

He chose his words carefully, just as carefully as Tony appeared to be choosing his notes. He had Tony's full attention now despite the pretense he kept up of paying attention to the piano. It occurred to him that he was taking a risk confronting him so openly. Tony could have a weapon on him. But even as the thought flickered through his head, Steve dismissed it. There was a certainty deep in his bones that whatever else happened, that Tony would not hurt him. At least not here, with the children so close.

“Why?" 

With a clunk of notes Tony dropped his hands and turned in his seat. His expression was blank but for his eyes. Steve had seen that look before in Pietro, Sam, and countless others. More recently he’d seen it in the mirror. It was the look of the hunted, equal parts fear and defiance. 

“What do you mean?” Tony asked after a moment.

Steve watched him, unsure of how long they sat staring at one another. When he did speak the words felt like stones in his mouth.

“I didn't think I'd find you here when I came home. I thought the abbot would have told you we were going to meet and you would have left. Mission completed. Or is the money really worth that much?”

"Money?" Tony repeated slowly, frowning, his eyes darting over Steve's face. "Have you lost your mind?”

A jolt of irritation shot through Steve at the bold question and he fisted his hand.

“So it wasn’t the money?" He asked. "Then what was it then? What made you think I’d let you stay here when I found out you were handpicked to spy on me?!”

 Steve had meant to keep his cool, but once he’d begun to speak the words had hissed out of him like tightly compressed air. All the anger boiling to the surface. Tony stared back at him, the slight widening of his eyes the only hint of emotion he allowed on his face. Was it shock? Fear? Steve had no idea and that just made him angrier.

“So you know about that.”

“Give me a reason not to throw you out tonight."

He meant it as a threat and it was, but to his shame it sounded like pleading in his ears.

Maye because it was.

He’d take anything, he realized. Any reason, even a little hope was enough, to keep Tony by his side. Shame went hot and stinging through his blood, but it was second to the utter terror of Tony leaving. Of Tony lying and everything between them being an illusion. He’d risked so much, inviting Tony to Berlin, making it clear that he wished to deepen their affair. He couldn’t bear it if all this time Tony had just been playing him.

Tony took a breath. Preparing for more lies, no doubt. Steve waited, his entire body coiled, primed for a fight that was sure to happen.

When Tony looked up at him again there was a new resolve. When he spoke it was in slow low Italian, likely fearful that someone passing by might overhear them. 

"Father Farkas did ask me to report to him. I believe it was one of the reasons he sent me here, but it was not mine for coming. Stefen I-"

"What other reason could you have?" Steve cut in, but Tony held up a hand to stop him and Steve snapped his mouth shut with a painful click. 

"Farkas saw an opportunity," Tony continued once he was sure Steve would keep quiet. "To recruit an officer with power, who might be willing to upend Hitler’s control over Austria."

Steve grit his teeth and Tony served him with a look and drawled, "He wasn’t wrong."

The monk rubbed his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut once more as if he had a headache.

"Stefen, I did what Nik wanted because I saw the same thing. Alright, not right away, but I hoped for it. You can't deny that you both want the same things."

"Not quite." Steve gritted out. “I don’t care what the abbot wants Tony.”

Tony pressed on, frustration and desperation coming off of him now in waves. 

"What do you want from me Stefen?”

“The truth, Stark” Steve snapped in reply.

“The truth? I’ve given it to you. Yes, alright. I was asked to spy on you and I did for a while." Tony’s laugh was humorless. He waved his hand expressively as he spoke. "But I stopped reporting anything of real value early on. Disgustingly early on. Anything I put in my letters to Farkas was about as useless as the reporting I did for you, and I’ll tell you Farkas was far less amused than you were." 

"But you did report on me. On my family." Saying the words didn’t lessen the sting, but they helped Steve find his ground and keep his focus. He wasn’t going to allow Tony to slither out of this.

"Yes." Tony said as if it were only a fact and not an utter betrayal of Steve's trust. The simple admission sliced through him like a knife to his side. He wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t look down and find blood on his uniform.  

 "I realized that I cared more about the children than any of the reasons I had for coming here, foolish as that may be." Tony admitted wearily.

So, Steve had been right about that part at least. Tony cared about the children. That had never been false. He’d offered up his affection for the children like a sort of balm, but it fell flat. Perhaps it had for both of them because a moment later, Tony chuckled humorlessly and muttered, "I wouldn’t be a good tutor if I wasn’t concerned with their welfare." 

Right then.

"Please, don't let your concern hold you here." Steve returned, surprising himself with the amount of venom in his tone. "You can go anytime you like. Do you need money? Food? I'd be happy to help you on your way." With each clipped word Steve felt parts of him ripping loose inside. He stood to his feet, striding towards the door. "

“You’ve done more than enough for the children. Indeed, how could I ask more from you."

"Stop pretending you don't understand what I'm trying to tell you. I'm not here to save my own skin, Stefen!" Tony practically shouted at his back, standing abruptly from the piano bench. His hands were twitching as if he wanted to ball them into fists, or slam them against the piano. Steve wished he would, wished Tony would give him any reason to put his hands on him. Anything was better than the wounded expression that Tony was pinning him down with. As if he was the one with any right to be hurt.

"I don't pretend to know anything, least of all what your agenda is, Stark!" Steve turned to snarl in reply, the sense of numb calm that he’d previously felt going up in flames. Tony flinched and lowered his gaze and Steve hated the guilt that wriggled in his gut as a result. Tony swallowed and cleared his throat.

"I didn't like deceiving you," he admitted with a sigh. “At first you were just another Nazi. Why shouldn’t I give Nik whatever he was looking for? But then I got to know you and… everything changed.”

Tony’s mouth twitched with tension and he turned his gaze back on Steve, something in it open and vulnerable. 

Steve’s heart pounded heavy in his chest like the traitor it was. He swallowed with difficulty and asked again, desperately, "Why are you still here, Stark?"

Tony leaned back, studying him with an open intensity that made feel both exposed and rooted to the spot.

"Is it so hard for you to believe I care? You say the children will be safe, but then you rush into every danger available to you. I'm tired of asking what happens if you die."

Steve closed his eyes, heart throbbing painfully in his chest. No. That wasn’t it and Tony knew it.

"Tony answer my question." 

He knew Tony loved the children. It couldn’t be the only reason that Tony was here in his music room arguing instead of saying his goodbyes. Tony hadn’t agreed to go to Berlin for the children! But he wouldn’t budge. He was in Steve’s face now, lashing him with a tired lecture. 

"They would be safer in Switzerland. The university in Geneva is still very interested in Péter. The other children could stay together while I continue their schooling-"

"Tony!” Steve thundered, out of patience. “We are not doing this again. Péter is not going to that school, it’s impossible." Tony had no idea what delicate balance he threatened to upset. Schmidt still had to be handled damn it, Steve couldn’t just yank Péter out of the HJ on a dime without consequences.

He held up a hand to still any reply from Tony, reeling with the storm of emotions that were clawing through his chest.

"Term is about to start. He's missed his entrance exams he-”

“They’ve already accepted him.” Tony interjected with an air of finality that kicked the legs right out from under Steve. “I sent them an essay he wrote and they’ve offered him a place. He’ll still need to take the exam for the state before he goes, but he’s been accepted. You can’t avoid this.”

Steve stared at him in shock and Tony steeled himself in anticipation for another argument and Steve growled. 

Incorrigible bastard.

“What did I tell you?" Steve asked slowly, dangerously.

Wide brown eyes searched his. 

"I told you not to interfere, Tony! I have a plan and it might have a chance of working if you would fucking leave well enough alone!"

"They’re alone enough!" Tony shouted back, not retreating in the slightest at the show of temper. A distant part of Steve couldn’t help but admire that even now there was no retreat in Tony.

"You’re going to let those wolves-" Tony cut himself off, eyes flickering to the cracked door. Even though they were conversing in another language the idea of being overheard weighed heavy on both their minds. He cleared his throat and looked back up at Steve before he continued again, lower, "Stefen. You have to send him.”

"Don’t tell me what I have to do, Tony. My children are my business! I’ll take care of them."

“And when you can’t? When you’re off playing soldier, what happens to them?!”

“Damn you! You and Bucky are both the same. Do you really think I’d die without making arrangements for them?”

"There, right there." Tony jabbed a finger violently at Steve, his face twisted up in anger. "Is it so much to ask, that you operate like you intend to survive!"

Steve waved him away, stepping back and putting some much needed distance between them, afraid he might do something he’d regret. His skin was practically crawling off him as he struggled to rein his temper back in.

"I'm a Captain in the German Army, I'll live or I'll die."   

It wasn’t up to Steve. It had never been up to Steve. But it was clearly the wrong thing to say. Tony's face drained of color and he fisted his trembling hands tightly. Steve wanted to shout at him again, demand to know why he bothered to hold back. If he thought so ill of Steve why not just take a swing at him? Why were they still slinging these useless words at each other?

"So, that’s it? You'll let them slaughter you like the gypsy pig they think you are." 

Pain sliced through his chest and Steve froze, his ears roaring with barley suppressed fury.

"What did you say?" 

"You heard me." Tony continued undaunted by Steve’s tone, fire burning in his eyes. "They despise you! Hate every last thing running through your blood that makes you good, hate your people, hate what goes through your mind and your heart!”

Steve thought Tony almost looked deranged, his fingers curled beside his head as he ranted and heaved a frustrated breath, his eyes burning into Steve’s with anguish now. Like the words were being ripped right out of his chest. As if he was not a lying bastard!

“And it is such a good heart, Stefen. You give everything to them and all they do is beat you down and whittle you away until-"

"That’s enough Tony" Steve snapped but Tony didn’t budge. His eyes flashed.  

"I am not finished yet! We are far from finished!" 

"Yes, we are!"  Steve roared and Tony sucked in a harsh breath as if Steve had struck him and sat down heavily on the piano bench.

Though he turned his head, it wasn’t quick enough to hide the stricken look in his eyes and Steve blinked in surprise, completely taken aback. Tony was practically vibrating where he sat, but he stayed completely still waiting for Steve to finish what he’d started. Waiting for Steve to order him from the house, still as a hare avoiding the hunters gaze. But that was Tony. Even terrified he was brave. Braver, Steve thought, than anyone he’d ever met. Because he didn’t let it rest. Maybe couldn’t. Tony blinked back what seemed impossibly like the threat of tears and had his last word.

"You're just cattle to them. Austria isn't worth it. It's not worth it."

 If it were anyone else Steve would have called his tone pleading. To think that Tony Stark would be sitting in his music room, head turned and neck bared, begging Steve not to die was unfathomable. It was … impossible. Unless…. Steve’s heart began to thud heavily in his chest and he took a step forward, feeling like he'd been socked in the jaw.

Was that why Tony wouldn’t tell the truth? Steve didn’t want to die. Being a solider was his life. It was so much bigger then Tony knew. So much bigger than Steve's own life. He couldn’t leave his children to the world the Third Reich was building. He wanted to tell Tony this, make him understand. He opened his mouth to do so, but the words froze in his throat.

Damn it! He had to. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he couldn’t force himself to say what he needed to say and make Tony understand. It was not his wish to die. If he had his wish, he’d be with Tony and the children forever.

Tony waited silently and Steve tried again, clearing his throat. Even still his voice came out like rust. Tony closed his eyes as Steve repeated familiar words, reminding them both of his convictions and the ideals he would always be willing to put down his life for, only opening them to turn and pin Steve with his gaze once more when Steve had finished. The look in his eyes made Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

"It’s not worth it." Tony repeated, each word intoned with finality and Steve let out the breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in a slow shudder. Cautiously he took another step toward Tony, recalculating everything that they’d said to one another and this time noticing how the things unsaid seemed to shout.

"I don't plan on dying, Tony. But to act like it's not a possibility isn't a luxury I can afford." Steve licked his suddenly dry lips, willing himself to go on. His heart was still beating rabbit like within his chest with anxiousness but he would not shy from this, from the very thing he wanted. He wanted it too badly. "I’ve plans to purchase a home in Switzerland and to send the family there when it’s secure to travel. Whatever happens…  Tony there is a place for you here, if you want it."

Only a few days ago Steve had not dared to dream of an after. He knew better than to hope for an “after the war” when one was a traitor and a spy. He’d made his peace as much as he could, thinking the future was not something he would get to see. But now, with the Coulson offer on the table and to possibility of avoiding Hitler’s war before it ever started? Now the possibilities were endless. And every last one that Steve could imagine started and ended with the man in front of him. If he could only just-    

"Let me help you."

Steve nearly missed the whispered words. He blinked out of his desperate thoughts to find Tony looking up at him, brown eyes wide and jaw set. Steve’s throat was tight with emotion, but the struggle for breath eased the longer he stared back at Tony. It seemed simple suddenly. Tony had said he could give no reason why Steve shouldn’t throw him out, but he had. He'd given every reason. After everything he'd done for Steve and the children, all the secrets he’d kept for them, Tony was a part of them.  

"You want to help." Steve repeated, sounding dull witted despite the electric pulse in his veins. He didn’t know what to do with that revelation. Had hardly dared to hope that such an outcome was possible since meeting with Coulson.

"I told you I’d help you if you let me." Tony repeated. "You don't have to do everything on your own, you..."

Tony trailed off, his eyes following Steve as he crept closer. Steve watched the muscles move in his throat as he swallowed.

"I’m here. You're not alone."

Tony didn’t say anything more but his eyes said it all. Bucky had been wrong, Steve thought with wild elation. Tony really was with him. At least he wanted to be. 

Steve didn’t expect Tony to shy away from his hand, but still a breath of relief left him as he slid his hand onto Tony's shoulder and the monk allowed it. Even though Steve was towering over him, practically bracketing Tony between himself and the piano with his thighs, he felt wildly like he was the one being pulled in as he leaned toward Tony. He slid a hand up, brushing over the smooth column of Tony's neck until he was cupping Tony's jaw. He was meant to be saying something, wasn’t he? 

_I'm here._

Steve thought those might be the most beautiful words in any language. 

Tony took a shuddering breath and Steve marveled at how it pulsed under his fingertips, Tony's pulse pounding thickly away where Steve’s ring finger rested on his pulse. Tony looked up at him through thick soot colored lashes, something far too heavy for what Steve felt was such a hopeful moment swimming in his eyes. 

"I meant it, Stefen. I meant everything" Tony murmured, the rasp in his voice not quite hiding the tremble that ran through it. Steve leaned forward until Tony's forehead rested against his own. He closed his eyes as anxious hope swelled inside him.

"Tony."

He opened his eyes slowly and Tony met his gaze head on. There was fear clouding his eyes. Steve stroked his thumb soothingly over Tony’s pulse.

"Why are you still here?" 

What little space was left between them was slowly being eaten up as Tony leaned into him, his warm hands smoothed over Steve’s wrist. Steve's pulse jumped under the caress, shockingly more intimate then any kiss they’d shared. He brushed his lips over Tony's mouth in a question, Tony’s warm breath tickling his skin as they breathed in time. The question hung suspended between them and Steve waited, stuck in place by Tony’s soft brown eyes as they searched his. 

He saw the moment Tony found whatever it was he was looking for. His breath hitched in his chest as Tony closed the last inch of distance between them, a tender press of lips agents his own pulling a groan from somewhere deep within Steve’s chest, just under his heart.

Tony exhaled in a hot rush against his mouth as he captured Steve’s lower lip, his hands sinking into Steve’s hair and gripping tight. Oh. That was just...that was. Steve growled as he pulled Tony closer, hungry for more of him, unable to stop himself, holding onto him for dear life as he pressed his body over Tony’s, desperate to feel him. The piano gave a fitful squall of protest as Tony’s back bore down against the keys and they jerked away from each other in shock. In the sudden quiet Steve thought he heard the sound of footsteps and both their eyes flew to the door, still just the way Artur had left it, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall beyond.

Thank god. Steve took a shaky breath, feeling slightly overwhelmed. It took several moments for him to regain his footing. Damn but they were lucky no one had come to see what was taking them so long. They were mad to be touching each other like this out in the open. Bucky was right. All his good sense left his head when it came to Tony.

“Was that clear enough?” Tony murmured into the tense silence with a breathless laugh and Steve let out a huff that might have also been something of a giggle, maybe a cry, he wasn’t confident of what his body was doing anymore. His nerves felt like he’d been hit by a lightning bolt.

"It’s clear to me that you should stay." Steve invited, lips stretching into a hopeful smile.

“You’re not finished with me?” Tony asked, the cheeky bastard but Steve loved that about him. God help him. Tony's breath caught in the back of his throat and his eyes almost fluttered shut as Steve raked his fingers up the column of his throat and into the soft hair at the nape of his neck murmuring, “not nearly.”

 "Well,” Tony hummed thoughtfully, eyes fluttering open. It took everything Steve had not to kiss him again.

“If my captain orders it."

Steve laughed, a bubble of happiness catching and bursting somewhere under his ribs. Unable to resist, he kissed the side of Tony’s mouth. Not enough. Not nearly enough, but it would have to do.

"If you ever took my orders, Stark it'd be a cold day in hell."

“The coldest.” Tony agreed with a warm laugh, reaching up to squeeze Steve’s wrist. His expression sobered as he spoke Steve’s name softly and Steve’s gut twisted, afraid that he might be having second thoughts about what they’d done.

“Tony?”

“Promise me you’ll think about Péter? It’s a relief to know that you’ve decided to send them all away and I trust you know what you’re doing-” Tony began, and Steve was torn between frustration and admiration because _of course_ Tony wasn’t going to let it rest. When did Tony Stark ever? Steve could feel the smile forming on his face. “- but Péter deserves everything they can offer him, and more importantly he deserves to be safe.”

“It’s not that simple Tony. General Schmidt does not like to be thwarted.” Steve tried to explain. “He’s determined that Péter should go to the S.S. school. The moment he hears I’m rushing to send him abroad he’ll put a stop on Péter’s travel papers and have us all pulled in for questioning. I won’t put the children through that.”

“I see.” Tony nodded, and Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief but it was too soon. “Then we have to find a way of getting around Schmidt because Péter’s not safe here. He’s too much like you.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked, frowning. Tony really believed Péter was in danger. Which he was of course, but there was something more to it that Steve couldn’t put his finger on. “Tony is there something I should know?”

“Only that you’re not the only revolutionary in Salzburg and your son has a good heart.”

A bolt of fear jolted through Steve as Tony’s words sank in. Péter couldn’t be tangled up with the X-Men. Steve would know. Wouldn’t he? But even as he thought it Steve’s mind was racing. He’d always presumed the people behind the X-Men to be young. University students. Kids whose hearts were in the right place but had no idea what they were getting into. Péter could easily meet someone and feel moved to get involved. He was a good boy. Always had been.

Damn it! This was why Steve had kept the children at home.

“Before you even say it, you can’t lock him up.” Tony drawled and Steve glared at him. Tony continued, “He’s nearly fifteen Stefen. Older than you were when you went to war. Did anyone ordering you not to go stop you?”

If the thought of Péter putting himself in danger weren’t so utterly horrifying Steve would have laughed. No, none of their mother’s or anyone else’s please had stopped him and Bucky from doing what they’d felt they had to do. Tony was right, as was so often the case, but for once Steve couldn’t muster up any ire about it. He found himself promising Tony that he’d think about it and the smile Tony rewarded him with was so brilliant that Steve knew there was no going back. He would have to find a way to handle Schmidt.

“Don’t worry Stefen. Together, we’ll figure something out.” Tony encouraged, daring once more to brush his lips against Steve’s. Steve hummed thoughtfully as Tony pulled back.

“There’s one thing you can help me figure out.”

“What’s that?” Tony asked with a touch of wariness and Steve smiled.

“What the hell is a crustacean?”

Tony blinked in surprise before a cackle of laughter bubbled up from his chest.

 

~*~*~*~

The sun was just beginning to set when Steve caught sight of Péter cycling up the drive. He’d not expected Péter to be home from the Osborne’s so early. He'd expected the boy to take any chance he had to spend hard won time with his friend. Apparently, Henry had returned from Vienna for the last spell of summer and Péter had asked at breakfast to spend the afternoon over at the Osbornes and Steve, feeling like his insides were boiling at the mention of Norman Osborne's son, had surprised even himself by agreeing to it. One day wouldn't hurt him. 

Péter peddled to a stop feet away. From over the small distance Steve could see his breath rising and falling as if he'd raced all the way home from town. He knew the moment Péter caught sight of him. Péter's shoulders stiffened and his movements become stiff as he went about putting his bicycle away. Steve took a seat on the step and watched him, his stomach churning in knots. 

He felt almost worse than he had the day he’d asked Bucky to leave with him for the army. It was stupid that the thought of holding a conversation with his own child could make him so sick to his stomach. But Tony had a point. Péter was nearly a man now, and even if he hadn't been he needed... well he needed something from Steve. Frustration welled up inside of him and Steve fought it down. There was a lot that Péter needed, so many things that Steve could not give him. But Steve could give him freedom. A chance at life, a good life. 

Steve had thought long and hard on the things Tony had said to him. He knew this was right. This was the best way. And the least selfish. Péter could study and learn without inhibition or fear of harm. Without the burden of the Reich and bullies that dogged his back, Péter might have a chance at a decent life, the life Steve and his mother had always wanted to give him. The life he deserved.

But it was still so hard to think of opening his mouth and saying the words that would take Péter away from his family, away from Steve, quite possible for good. 

Footsteps sounded on the path and Steve glanced up to watch Péters approach, memorizing every last detail of the way he looked with his brown hair streaked with summer sun and his knees bobbing beneath his brown shorts. He couldn't say when his shoulders had widened like that or his arms gotten such definition, but it was all there in the details. A young man had taken the place of his little boy – the knock kneed little imp Peggy had called her gyspy boy, always climbing over the furniture and attempting to fly, confident that his father would be there to catch him - but as much as Steve wanted that boy back, he would never trade the man Péter was becoming. 

“Hello,” Steve murmured in greeting. His voice was not as strong as he'd intended and Péter hesitated, his expression closing off before continuing up the steps towards him. 

“Hello, father.”

Steve swallowed and took a short breath. He nodded at the empty space next to him, indicating that Péter should sit down. Péter dropped his bag next to him and sat, eyeing Steve warily.

Steve shifted anxiously, too aware of the boys stare. 

“What’s wrong?” Péter asked after the silence dragged on. “Has...has something, happened? Is everyone alright?” 

Steve nodded his head, swallowing down his fear. Enough now. He could do this for his son. 

“Everyone's fine." He replied, grateful that his voice had returned to steadiness. "How are the Osborns?” 

That was a safe enough subject Steve decided. Sort of. 

Péter seemed to sense his hesitation and made a little face, slowly answering “They’re all right.”

Steve nodded, at a complete loss for what to say next.

“Harry's going to stay in Salzburg instead of going to the school in Vienna,” Péter continued on when the silence dragged too long and Steve arched his brow in surprise. “Frau Osborn is very worried about the amount of laborers they've had to replace. She wants Harry to come and work the business instead of spending so much time in the HJ. She doesn't want him to be a soldier.”

Péter said all this as if he were delivering a report. Short, clipped and removed. Steve couldn't bring himself to be to irritate with his standoffishness. The boy had learned it from him after all. 

“Don't think he took to kindly to that idea” Steve tried, all the while thinking that it used to be so much easier talking to Péter. How was it so easy for Tony?

Péter nodded. 

"Herr Osborn didn’t either."

“Thought about being Squad Leader?” 

Steve had asked it offhandedly, just to keep the stilted conversation alive, but he instantly regretted it. Any openness in Péter’s expression shuttered away at the question. 

“Yes, Sir.”

And it was back to Sir. Steve frowned. He hadn't wanted that. What had he said?

“Or whatever you wanted to be. If you want to be anything... Your mother always wanted you to be a doctor." Steve babbled, the words were certainly coming easier now, almost too fast as he tried to back track. “You don't have to be a soldier either. I think she’d like the idea of you-”

"I could be a squad Leader!” Péter groused and Steve ground to a halt. There was an unfamiliar challenge gleaming in Péter's eyes, but the defiant set of his jaw was all too easy to recognize. 

“I’m just as good as the other boys. I. just. Don’t. Want. To. Be." 

Péter fashioned each word as a dart, meant to sting, and they might have landed if Steve had hosted any actual desire to see Péter in the Wehrmacht. Maybe once upon a time when he'd been very young himself, before he'd killed his first man, there had been a time when he'd dreamed his son might one day inherit the brotherhood. But that had been a very long time ago. Those dreams had dissolved with the empire long before Péter was born.

 “Péter," Steve entreated tenderly. "I've never said I wanted you to follow in my footsteps.”

“Yes, you did.” Péter barked, jarringly in the face of Steve's gentle tone. There were splotches of red forming on his cheeks. "Soldiers are too disciplined to run around making noise. Soldiers don't cry when they miss their mothers and they don't stay down when somebody bigger knocks them down. All you've ever taught us is how to be you." 

He crossed his arms, his gaze not quite meeting Steve's, surly and defensive. Steve could take a guess or two what his own face must look like, and Péter clearly remembered what had happened the last time he was so defiant but he dared to press on anyway.

 "Ian can be the next Lion of Austria. " He muttered viciously under his breath, "He can be a murdering coward."

“Péter, stop.” Steve commanded and Péter jumped, his breathing erratic as he tried to keep his face as stoic as possible. He wasn't quite able, Steve saw the fear there, as well as the anguish and the rage. It made any of the anger Steve felt, being talked at that way by his own child, being deemed a murderer and a coward no less, fade to the background.

His son stared back at him sullenly, shoulders squared, but beneath that sullen expression there was a wealth of vulnerability he couldn't hide, and a burning question in his eyes. One that only Steve had the answer to. Though it hurt to think his own son might despise him, Steve knew that he had not given Péter many reasons not to. He'd withheld the truth for his own safety, but without it what was Péter to think? 

"The uniform I wear used to mean something proud. I wear it now in order to do what I can to help others, but firstly to protect our family. You probably think you understand the Nazis, that standing up to them is as easy as deciding to act but you're not a father Péter. Your uniform isn't all that stands between your children and horrible death."

“I’ve heard what they do to people.” Peter admitted boldly, jaw working stubbornly. “I’ve seen it. How can you fight for them?”

"I'll always fight if it means I have the power to help people.” Steve answered. “With that power comes a responsibility, but my first responsibility is to you... I've not been a good father, I know."

Péter gaped at the admission, opening his mouth as if he might protest by route and Steve shook his head, tilting the corner of his mouth in a rueful grin.

"Don't bother sparing me. Just know that I don't want my burdens for you. I want you to be a child as long as you need to be, and when you're ready to find a woman who makes you happy and have children of your own. I want you to keep up with your experiments and your inventions and reach those stars you're always studying. But the Reich isn't going to let you. If they can, they'll kill you. Kill all of us.”

Peter’s mouth clicked closed but he didn’t say a word. Steve didn’t think he looked surprised, just scared. As scared as he should be.

“ I need you to trust that I'm doing my best so that we survive and I need you to be the man I know you are and to think of your siblings. They're the reason I'm teaching you to shoot. They're all the reason in the world to shoot."

He watched the words register on Péter's face, the realization dawning that their practice with the guns was not for the benefit of the HJ, but for whatever was to come. For their family’s survival. Péter's face had drained of color and he shuddered, despite the warmth of the afternoon and Steve put his arm around him.

If it came down to it - staring a man in the eyes as they came for you with the intent to kill - if it came to it (oh, and it would) Steve had no doubt Péter would do whatever he needed to keep his siblings safe. He'd always done, and Steve was both proud and terrified of that fact. 

“Why?” Péter asked, voice cracking. “Why do they hate us?”

If he never said anything else to Péter he had to say this. Péter stared at him, his gaze rapt with attention.    

"Forget them. Forget everything they told you. They don't know you, or anything about being-” _About being disposable_ , Steve’s brain filled in and he took a breath and tried again. He was shaking, fine little tremors all over but he doubted, hoped, Péter wouldn't see. "About being who we are." 

"What are we dad?" It was phrased innocently but Steve knew him better. He had a clever boy.

The words fell much easier then he'd ever expected them to. Years of lies and the truth slipped so easily out, their weight lifting from his chest.

"We're Rom, Péter."  

Steve let the words sit between them or a moment. It felt good to say it plainly for once.

"Gypsies." Péter confirmed in a small voice.  

Everything had a flinty quality to it, like the sun was too bright, his pupil s unable to dilate and accommodate. He licked his lips and nodded “Yes, I am a gypsy and so was your Baka."

He made sure Péter was looking at him as he finished. "And so are you." 

"Hardly," Péter groused, jerking his chin up, an edge of hurt creeping back into his tone. "I don't know anything about being gypsy." 

Steve watched intently, Péter had a point. Whatever ignorance he had of his people was entirely Steve's fault.

"I'm sorry. I thought I was protecting you by keeping you away from your people. I can't say I regret it either." 

"You should-" Péter began. 

"No." Steve cut in, he would not concede this point "You're my son and I'd die before I let someone hurt you the way I was hurt. If lying kept you safe, then I don't regret it." 

He didn't know what else to do, what else to say to ease the storm in his son's eyes. 

Steve leaned forward, pressing his fingers into his thighs. What did it matter anymore what Péter knew? Péter knew more than Steve had ever wanted him to. No matter how hard he had tried.  

“Your grandda, my father, he was not a... good person. He was a lot like the Führer."

“He was a Nazi?” Péter squeaked, drawing back in surprise. 

“No, no he was a... there were-" Steve stammered, unsure how to phrase what he was trying to say. "Péter there will always be terrible ideas backed by crowds of people, and they won't always call themselves Nazis."

Péter shifted uncomfortably in his seat but nodded.

“People like him, like my Da," Steve continued feeling like he was in a daze. "They think power is the only thing worth having. They'd rather step on their neighbor than risk going a little bit hungry, and they're afraid of anything at all that might mean less for them so they put others down. But I’m not without my own fault. All I ever wanted growing up was power over my own life.”

Steve's mouth was dry and he took another breath, trying to clear his head of the encroaching fog of painful memories. That strange floating sensation had retuned and he fought against it, trying to focus on Péters face. 

Péter should know that it had never been like the stories they told about him. They weren't true at all, he was no hero. 

“That was why I joined the army. It was about gaining a little power for myself as much as anything else. A name. A place in the world, even if it cost so much I wanted to be a citizen. Especially if it meant keeping myself and the people I loved alive and giving them a better life. It’s responsibility that gives power to a man. You can do great things, when you do them for others."

Péter blinked at him, Steve thought his eyes looked wet.

“I see that in you," he said earnestly " Every day. You're going to do great things and I- The work you’ve done with Tony is… Péter, you gotta know how proud I am of you." 

Péter stared back at him in a daze, his mouth falling slightly open once more in shock and Steve chuckled lowly.

“I was speaking with Tony. It sounds like your schoolings coming along real well.”

An understatement. Péter's scores were outstanding. He’d always known Péter was smart, intelligent in a way that Steve just wasn't, but looking at his schoolwork, at his aptitude for chemistry, biology, and the other sciences, Steve finally began to understand what Tony meant when he called Péter gifted. Of course Steve was proud, but his pride didn’t make him any less terrified for the future.

Péter deserved everything that life could offer him, everything Steve had never had. He deserved to be able to do as he pleased without looking over his shoulder for the next knock in the face for doing so. 

He’d held Péter in his arms and promised him the world when he was born. Now he could make something good on that promise.

"Tony informs me you've been accepted into the International school of Geneva. I think you should go."  

There was a poignant pause. 

“I...what?” Péter stuttered, almost falling off his perch on the step. “When?”

“The start of term. If you like,“ Steve added, though he knew it wasn't necessary. A barely suppressed grin was already spreading over Péter’s face. 

“They really want me?!”

"Yes! why not you?” 

Péter took in a shaky breath, tripping over his words in a rush. 

“Because, because I’m me! I’m not supposed to go to university. I’m supposed to train to be an officer and … bring glory to Germany!” he stammered. “They're not just going to let me leave.”

“Péter, let me worry about the HJ.” If Péter caught the trepidation in Steve’s voice he didn't show it. He bit his lip, looking away with a pensive expression and Steve wondered why he was still fighting it when it was so clear that he wanted to go.

"I can't leave my friends. They'd... they need me."

Steve narrowed his eyes and sighed in frustration. 

“Péter. Look at me” he waited till he had Péter's full attention again. “This is an opportunity you will never have again. Your friends will understand.” 

Péter's face was turning red, he looked down at his feet but when he shook his head it was with conviction. 

"No. What about the others?  Shouldn't I be here for them, like you said?" He asked in a quiet voice.

"There's nothing you can do immediately. Besides, I've hired a tutor to look out for them, yeah. Heard he's not too bad."

"But..." Whatever was troubling Péter had him squirming in his seat. 

"Of course you're wanted here, but don't tell me you'd give up learning molecular chemistry to stay home and keep James outta trouble?"

He found himself smiling softly at Péter who looked away once more, brow furrowed deeply in thought.  Steve nudged his shoulder with his own and the boy's mouth quirked at the corners in a self-conscious smile. 

"You only know what that is because of Tony." Péter teased and Steve laughed, caught off guard but relieved. He could tell that Péter was relenting.

"Well now you know why I hired him."

“Can I be the one to tell the others?” Péter asked, his voice giving way to excitement. “I think it would be better if they heard it from me.”

He nodded and Steve watched Péter bolt up the stairs, his ruck sack nearly spilling over, calling for Natacha before he even got the door open.

Steve leaned back and heaved a long heavy breath. He had no regrets about keeping his family safe, but for the first time in a long while he’d had the pleasure of making Péter happy and he was very, very pleased. 

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful afternoon in fall. The kind of afternoon that still felt of summer without harshness. The sky was clear and the sun was kind. A perfect sort of afternoon that even Herr Hammer’s typically prickly temperament couldn’t ruin. The state examiner had been around that morning and to no surprise at all, Péter had tested exceptionally well. A copy of his scores had been notarized and was even now on its way to the school in Geneva but as the month closed and September loomed, given how slow the post could be it was likely that the boy himself would arrive at the gates before his official documents ever did.

Péter was thrilled to be leaving, but nervous as well, and those nerves were often echoed in his siblings. They’d never been separated for any great stretch of time, and now Péter would be gone for months on end. James had thrown a fit at the news. A full production of tears and tantrum that Tony thought even Stefen had seen through. It wasn’t just that the boy was jealous his older brother got to have an adventure and was leaving the others behind. It was the leaving altogether that James was just not prepared to handle. Even Natacha had seemed shaken by the news. She’d never carry on like James but she was quieter than usual, and eating less.

Tony looked up from the journal he wasn’t truly paying much attention to and glanced out over the yard where Péter and his younger brothers were gathered together. Péter was showing them how to use stones in order to carve symbols on the trees. To what purpose Tony didn’t know, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. It was a rare moment of peace between the brothers and for a moment Tony just sat and watched them, listening to their voices carry over the yard and let his heart fill with the full measure of affection and sorrow the moment seemed to warrant. He wished he could stop time for them, so that they would always be together. Always be just as safe and happy as they were now.

Giving them the afternoon off from lessons had been the right decision. They needed time to be together.

The children’s world was changing rapidly, Tony wished it wasn’t so but he also knew that Péter going away to school was for the best. He was certain that if the boy were to stay, that he would be hurt and eventually killed. This unshakable certainty was there every time Tony looked at that thin boy with the kind face and the crooked reading glasses he didn’t wear enough. It was there in his bright eyes and compassionate gaze and in the determined way in which he went about getting an excitable Artur to focus on combing the grass for the correct sort of stone. And it was there, in the under bed of his nails that for a few days a week were always stained a faint red that somebody less attuned to small details and less sharp of mind might have missed. Péter Rogers was a good boy.

Tony hadn’t told Stefen what he’d seen. He might have, had things carried on and Stefen not come to his senses about sending Péter away, but as it stood Tony saw no reason to cause an undo uproar that would only upset the household and damage the tender understanding Stefen and the boy had reached. Then again, he thought snidely, maybe Tony was just all too good at keeping secrets and there was nothing altruistic about it.

He sighed.

The trouble with holding things back from someone you cared deeply for, was that the blasted secrets became something like rocks tied to ones feet. The weight of them just got heavier and more cumbersome with each moment. Tony didn’t imagine that he knew everything there was to know about Stefen either, but he couldn’t miss the fact that after the conversation they’d had in the music room that the scales had somehow tipped. Somehow Stefen had become the one who seemed open and vulnerable while Tony kept his cards clenched tightly to his chest.

It didn’t feel right. There was some lovesick, anxious, little voice in the back of his mind that urged him to find Stefen that very moment and admit all. Tony staunchly buried it.

It was only wise. This was his life after all. His untarnished name was his last measure of defense. The heart could say what it wanted to, but Tony was good at compartmentalizing problems and looking at things logically.

It was not that he thought Stefen would willingly choose to betray him.  But the harsh reality was that Stefen had a family to protect and if pressured, Tony would want him to do what was necessary to protect the children. He wouldn’t fault the man if it came to that, but logic said Tony could prevent the issue altogether by just keeping silent.

Logic also said that Stefen blew too hot and cold to be trusted with such a monumental confession. Not so readily. Not until he proved he could take the things Tony had said seriously. Stefen had talked of permanence but Tony had to wonder how much Stefen could really know of his own feelings. He doubted if Stefen had ever been with a man before. How could he be so sure he understood what he was undertaking? An affair of the moment was one thing. Tony had lain with many a lover behind closed doors while bar keeps and bell hops had seemed happy to look the other way, but it was an entirely different sort of risk one took when they tried for permanency and Stefen had the children to consider.

Who was to say that Stefen would always feel as strongly as he did now? Or that he might not grow weary of the secrecy and the constant risk? Was Tony to risk his very life on a flame that might very well flicker and die the moment that Stefen learned that Tony was a Jew?

Damn it. Tony cursed under his breath and shook the maudlin thought away. That wasn’t the reason he was holding back. He wasn’t that fragile or that petty. He had every sane reason in the world to bite his tongue, he didn’t need to dip into the pathetic.

Tony had meant what he’d said, the thought of tying his life to another man’s did not bother him. He’d follow Stefen as long as Stefen wished to be followed, but there must be trust between them. There had to be. Stefen could not keep him separate from his hardships any longer and he had to allow Tony to share his burdens. How else could Tony bring himself to put his faith in the man?

It shouldn’t be such a big deal. He’d practically been weaned on secrets, lies and omissions after all. That was just how people worked, he knew that. But Tony was tired. Tired and lonely, and just once he wanted for someone to prove differently.

Maybe then he should take his own advice and share his own secrets, some snide little voice in the back of his mind chided and Tony pushed that too away.

As his Nonna used to say. Time was the truest test.

It was a funny thought to have in retrospect, because Tony had no idea as he sat on the terrace on a beautiful day watching his charges at play, just how little time they actually had. For at that moment Pepper came hurrying through the doors, her steps furtive but quick, and there was such an expression of gravity on her face that Tony felt his heart sink rapidly to his knees.

“The police have come.” She said, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the children playing on the grounds below. Tony’s hands clenched the edges of his book but he kept silent, slowly nodding in acknowledgment.  “They are looking for a pair of gypsy children. Someone reported seeing a pair that matched their description on our grounds!”

Tony had no time to properly feel the rush of relief that swept through him, realizing that the police were not there for him but for Wanda and Pietro, because his thoughts too quickly moved on to what would happen if they were discovered. They’d go back to Dachau, back to being experimented on and whatever other horrors they’d witnessed there. Stefen would be arrested and the children… it didn’t bear thinking about. There was no time!

“Where are they?” he snapped in question, quickly rising from his chair and scurrying inside, Pepper following at his heels.

“In the front hall. The Captain is trying to hold them off but they’re determined. The twins are in the music room with the girls. We must get them out.”

Tony nodded along as she spoke, mind at work trying to figure out a way to fix this. To save them all. Stefen could be an imposing bastard when he wanted to be. Tony was confident he could buy them a bit of time at least.

“There isn’t time for that. They’ll be caught. Our only chance is to hide them.” Tony insisted. “I’ll need the key to the attic.”

Pepper, wonderful girl that she was, immediately began fishing through her ring of keys for the right one.

“We must round the children up, keep them together and keep them quiet” she said, pressing a long thin skeleton key into Tony’s palm and the monk nodded silently his agreement.

Keeping away from the sound of unfamiliar voices carrying through the hall, Tony and Pepper darted like mice toward the music room where Tony could hear the sounds of a jaunty music playing and giggling laughter filtering from the room.

_Küss mich, bitte, bitte, küss mich, eh' die letzte Bahn kommt!_

They were listening to one of their parent’s old records, he realized somewhere in the middle of his storm of thoughts as he and Pepper burst into the room.  The children were so wrapped up in their merriment that for a moment they continued, laughing gaily as they spun and danced about. Wanda was holding the hands of the two younger girls and spinning them in a wide circle, and somehow, Pietro had pulled Natacha from her gloomy mood enough to convince her to dance, the two of them grinning at each other as she showed him the popular swing steps she wasn’t supposed to know.

_Kiss me, please please, kiss me before the last train comes._

“Children, children _silenzioso_!” Tony called for their attention urgently with a fixed smile on his face. Natacha looked up and the spell was broken. The others trailed to a stop as Pepper yanked the needle off the record and brought the music to an abrupt halt.

“Tony?” Maria questioned, her brown eyes going wide with worry as the feeling of tension in the room sank in. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No Bambina,” Tony quickly reassured her, placing a hand atop her head and pressing one finger against his lips in the signal for quiet. “It’s just that your father is meeting with some very important people and we all must be very quiet now until they’re done. Sara could use some more practice with her letters. Why don’t you girls head to the school room with Frau Hogan and see if you can’t get through the alphabet today.”

Maria nodded, and Tony was relieved to see that she seemed to accept his answer and for the moment thinking nothing more of the strange interruption, taking her younger sister by the hand and following obediently after Pepper.

“Anya, Péter, come with me now.” Tony instructed the two without a moment more of pause, gesturing adamantly. They came without question, their faces draining of blood. Natacha followed after Tony and the twins as they scurried in the opposite direction from the one that Pepper had taken, but there was no time to argue with her.

“The police have come?” She asked in a way that said she already knew the answer. Wanda gave a frightened gasp, one small hand flying to her mouth to choke off the sound as if she feared the police might be just around the corner. Tony tried not to think about how possible that was. With each passing moment that was becoming more and more likely.

“They want them. Don’t they?! Tony we can’t!” Natacha hissed fearfully under her breath, and Tony was glad that she had the forethought to keep quiet because his heart slammed in his chest when they did round a corner only to narrowly miss being spotted by Hammer, who fortunately had his back turned as he spoke lowly to one of the maids.

“ – they’ve been wanted for weeks! The Captain has sworn us to secrecy of course, because it’s all a fine mess, but mark my words when they’re found it’ll be the end of Stark. Can you imagine the nerve of him, bringing that sort under the Captain’s roof?”  Hammer was crowing, and for a moment Tony was too caught up in the nature of what he was saying to realize that he and the children were in the open and it would be very bad if Julia were to glance over Hammer’s shoulder. That dirty snake! That traitorous dirty snake!

Natacha might have saved them all, pinching his arm the way she did and gesturing franticly in another direction, mouthing for him to come on. Tony wasn’t surprised to see for himself that Natacha knew every hallway and corridor of the villa by heart, but it was still startling somehow to watch her scurry and dip through the narrow hallways designated for servant use with such practiced ease.

 Tony’s heart only began to calm down when the door to the attic stairs finally came into view. Keeping a level head was the key here. They could get out of this, but only if they all kept their heads.

“Natacha, your brothers are out back. Go fetch them and join Pepper in the schoolroom.”

“I won’t.” The girl insisted with bite, as Tony waved Wanda and Pietro up the stairs with the key, promising to follow after them. Only once they’d slipped through the door and out of sight did he turn back to Natacha who had lunged to grasp his arm. She was pale, her face looking somehow pinched and stretched all at once, her hands trembling where they clutched his sleeve.

“I won’t let you do this!” she insisted, her voice growing dangerously in volume as her fingers dug into his sleeve.

“Then why did you help me?” Tony snapped. The girl fell abruptly silent. What she didn’t do was move. She was trembling from head to toe and still planting herself in front of him like the mountain that wouldn’t be moved.

Mindful of the little time they had, Tony laid a hand on her thin shoulder and pressed the other to her cheek, leaning close as he quietly implored, “It’s the right thing. You know it is.”

Natacha flinched back as if Tony had slapped her. He felt guilt for leaving her that way, but there was nothing else to be done about it just then. At least now she was moving. She turned and virtually fled the corridor as if a pack of wild dogs were behind her. Chest clenching, Tony turned and dashed up the attic stairs. The key to the attic door was still within the lock, the door left ajar. He found Wanda and Pietro huddled together on the old rickety iron bed underneath the attic window. Pietro had an arm around his sister’s trembling shoulders. His face was ashen.

“We won’t go back!” the boy cried. Tony noticed that he had a small butter knife clutched tightly in his fist. He didn’t stop to wonder when Pietro had snatched it from the table or why he was carrying it on his person. He strode across the room towards the covered table where the radio he and Péter had built still sat. It would be a tight fit but Wanda and Pietro were both slight.

“You’re not going back. I promise.” He new he shouldn’t make promises like that, but he couldn’t seem to help it. It was the truth. If the twins were found, Tony knew only that he wouldn’t be able to watch them dragged away, and he doubted Stefen would either.

The three of them stilled when they heard the sound of voices floating up the stairs from somewhere in the hall below. Wanda sucked in a breath and Tony shot back into action, lifting the sheet covering the radio and gesturing franticly to the empty space under the table.

“Quick now, under here.”

The twins scrambled off the bed and under the table, and Tony let the linins fall back into place, his heart pounding steadily against his ribcage. He yanked the sheet off the old bed for good measure, sending a plume of dust into the air, and threw it over the table. The radio looked too intriguing a lump under those linens, he thought quickly, surveying the rest of the room for something, anything, more to help. Spotting an open trunk of dusty books, Tony ran and grabbed a stack of them, running back to the table to begin piling them around and on top of the mound.  With any luck, anyone who happened to notice it would just assume it contained more books.

The voices sounded like they were getting close to the stairs now. Tony ran and grabbed a couple more books from the trunk and dashed to the door with them tucked under his arm. He shut the door behind himself as quietly as he could, twisting the key in the lock and depositing it in his pocket. He’d only made it halfway down the stairs before a uniformed officer came into view. He was accompanied by Herr Hammer, who was telling him that this part of the house was little used and primarily for storage.

“It’s a shame that Virginia has misplaced the key. I’ll try and see what I can do but I doubt that old door will budge,” Hammer was lamenting. Tony cleared his throat and both men looked up.

“Stark, what are you doing up here?” the butler demanded to know. He was clearly surprised to find Tony there on the stairwell. His eyes flickered past Tony to the door, and Tony saw the moment when suspicion dawned in his eyes.

“Who is this?” the officer grunted, his eyes narrowing on Tony.

“I’m Herr Stark, the children’s teacher.” Tony explained, finishing his decent down the stairs. Gesturing to the books in his arms he continued, “I’ve just been fetching some more material for the children’s lessons. Is everything alright? Why have the police come?”  

“A helpful citizen left an anonymous tip they’d seen a pair of gypsy children here,” Hammer, the giant rat, explained with a sniff, his eyes pinned on the attic door. Tony’s heart hammered but he kept his expression as calm as he could, but for the widening of his eyes.

“Gypsies, here?” he scoffed openly, adjusting his grip on his stack of books. With a disdainful sniff that even Hammer could have been proud of he demanded to know if the Captain had been made aware of the situation, even though he already knew very well that he had.

“Yes, and I warn you he’s livid. He’s on the phone with the station now.” Hammer answered with a grim shake of his head and a smug smirk. Tony couldn’t help feeling pity for the poor bastard on the other end of that call. Hammer on the other hand looked practically gleeful at the thought of the twins being found, and eager to point the blame at Tony where he thought it belonged. Tony didn’t believe for a second that it hadn’t been him who left the tip, hoping to see Tony dragged from the house in handcuffs. Hammer had no idea how deeply the captain was involved in the whole thing.

“I should say not,” Tony scoffed again, this time giving the officer a deriding glare. “The whole house disrupted over something like this. Can you imagine? Captain Rogers, hiding gypsies. Frankly you should be ashamed you even suggested it. Surely you’ve seen enough by now to note the obvious truth?”

The officer looked uncomfortable now.

“No one wishes to upset the good Captain, or to imply that he is at all involved in this, however it is a large house with many staff. There is a lot someone could miss in a house this size,” he said.

“So, you think the maids are hiding them in the attic?” Tony rejoined.

“My orders were to search the entirety of the house.” The officer insisted his spine stiffening and tone broking no argument. He was young and not especially a tall man, but he made up for it with the straightest posture that Tony had ever seen. Every last inch of his uniform was crisp and not a hair looked out of place beneath his cap. If not for the fact that it was a soft honey brown, he would have made for the model Aaryn. God help them, but he was entirely too earnest.

“Enough of this nonsense.  Open the door Herr Stark,” Hammer snapped, gesturing up the stairs. Tony swallowed, mind racing to find some way to keep the men out of the attic but he knew better than to resist any further. That would only rouse the officer’s suspicions.

“Oh alright, if I must, but I do not take kindly to this insult to Captain Rogers and neither will the abbot.” Tony barked. He crossed himself as he turned sharply on his heel and stomped back up the stairs. Let the officer think the sweat prickling the back of his neck was righteous indignation and not the cold sensation of terror that was squirming in his belly. If they could hear the wild pounding of his heart, let them blame it and his fiercely muttered prayers on indignant rage.

The prayers were as familiar as his own skin but they provided little comfort as he turned the iron key within the lock and pushed the creaking door open. Even if he was wrong and God existed, Tony knew for a fact he was not the sort of fellow God would deem worthy enough to answer. But he was powerless now and so at the mercy of chance as the young officer stepped into the attic, his eyes sweeping critically over the clutter of trunks and old furnishings. Hammer made a sound of disappointment, like air punching out of a tire as he took in the empty room, his eyes darting about franticly before they landed on Tony once more with hot accusation behind them. The man’s thin lips pressed tight.

Tony watched the officer move about carefully, moving as slowly toward the table in the corner as he could without drawing attention to the fact.

The old tool box he and Péter had used was still there, still lying open on the edge of the table. Behind his back Tony flexed his fingers, eyeing the wrench head jutting out of the tangle of tools.  It would be an easy reach and he was ready.

“Are you satisfied?” He barked through a dry throat. “Nobody is hiding Gypsies in this house.”

The officer’s keen eyes flew to Tony but slid away from him a moment later to land on the covered table behind him and Tony’s chest clenched tight. He held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe.

“What is –” the young man began but he was interrupted by the sound of a sharp girlish scream, and an alarming chorus of thuds as something (or someone) fell down the stairs. Tony’s heart had jumped so high into his throat that it took him a moment to pull himself together, panic twisting through him as he imagined Maria or Sara taking a fall and lying broken at the bottom of the narrow stairwell. They knew they weren’t supposed to play up here, but maybe they’d come looking for him. Why? Oh why, when Pepper was supposed to have been watching them!

He almost couldn’t process it when he got to the door, Hammer and the young policeman just a step behind, and saw not one of the little girls but Natacha curled up at the foot of the stairs with tears in her eyes, her face white with shock.

“My God, are you alright Miss?” the young man gaped, pushing past Tony as the trio hurried down the stairs to reach her twisted groaning form.

“Tacha, bambina are you hurt?” Tony’s shaking hands were dancing over her shoulders and legs feeling for injuries.

“My ankle.” She whimpered and Tony gingerly grasped her foot, noting the puffy swollen flesh he could feel beneath her stockings.

“Can you stand?” he asked, and the girl shook her head with a sob.

“Is it broken do you think?” The officer asked and Tony swallowed back a curse.

“Hard to tell until we can get a proper look at it. Let’s get her downstairs. Can you help me lift her?”

“I’ll alert the captain and ring for the doctor.” Hammer stuttered before scurrying off.  The officer meanwhile nodded, already moving to assist Tony in lifting Natacha who promptly clamped her arms around the young man’s neck and squeezed like a limpet.

“There now miss, it’s alright.” He crooned in a soothing fashion before murmuring to Tony. “I’ll carry her. I don’t mind.”

“Yes. Yes, thank you,” Tony babbled as the officer began to carry her down the hall and he quickly followed behind, still trying to catch his breath and make sense of things. “What happened?!”

The girl lifted her face from the officer’s shirt sleeve and her watery eyes met Tony’s.

“You were late for our lesson so I came to fetch you.  A mouse ran across my shoe.”

Tony couldn’t help but still at her words, thinking of the mouse Artur had caught awhile back and how he’d teased his younger sisters with it before Tony had intervened. All he could see was Natacha taking notes in her journal, watching Tony try and choral the circus Artur and his latest little friend had created with a smirk on her face.

Her voice was still small and trembling, but her gaze hidden from the officer’s view was unflinching as she stared back at him.

Relief washed through Tony in a wave, leaving him feeling suddenly drained. Unbidden, he felt the sharp prick of tears in his eyes and had to batt them away.

Clever girl. Beautiful, wonderful, clever girl.

Things progressed quickly after that.  They carried Natacha down to the sitting room where the second officer was waiting right where Stefen had left him. Stefen, learning from Hammer about the incident had met them halfway, expression and intent as he scooped his daughter out of the young man’s arms and with an air of sharp command informed him that if his investigation was over he and his partner were to get out of his sight.

The men seemed eager to leave, and Tony couldn’t blame them in the face of Stefen’s dangerous glower. Tony saw them to the door and shut it firmly in their wake, but he could only really breathe again when he walked back through the doors of the sitting room and Stefen, who was kneeling next to the lounge that Natacha had been set in, looked up at him, the threat of violence still a ghost in his eyes, balanced on a precarious edge.

“They’re gone.” Tony said, breath gusting outward with relief and Stefen nodded slowly, his posture not relaxing by any visible margin. Still, when he raised his hand and beckoned Tony toward him Tony went without question.  He stopped at Stefen’s shoulder and could not resist the urge to touch, the fingers of one hand ghosting across warm flesh, the cotton shirt he wore a thin but no less hateful barrier.

Stefen had Natacha’s foot resting in his lap. He’d removed her shoes and stockings and was cradling her swollen ankle gently between his palms.

“She’s just turned it wrong,” he answered lowly in the wake of Tony’s unspoken concern.

“It could have been much worse.” Tony admonished. The girl’s chin raised and Natacha stared at him, brows arching in challenge. Tony smiled weakly, too exhausted for anything more.

Pepper appeared at that moment with Julia in tow. The housekeeper had a small block of chipped ice wrapped in a clean rag and both women hurried over to press the bundle against the girl’s injury and fuss at her rumpled skirts. It wasn’t long before Pepper suggested that Julia help the girl up to her room, insisting that she needed rest after her ordeal. Natacha didn’t protest, rather she looked to her father and the two seemed to share some sort of silent exchange. Stefen silently placed a hand upon her cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture and a moment later Natacha was sliding off the lounge chair without so much as a word. Tony watched as she limped toward the door, leaning on Julia for assistance and didn’t speak until the pair had disappeared completely from view.

“I stopped Jurgen from ringing for the doctor,” Pepper informed the captain quietly, rising from the floor. Her worried eyes searched the captains as she asked. “Will the police come back?”

Stefen shook his head.

“Not tonight.”

Pepper bit the corner of her lip and nodded silently in understanding but the mood in the room remained dark. They knew that the police would be back. Perhaps not that night, but surely some other. It was all only a matter of time.

“They have to leave. Tonight.” Tony said what they were all thinking and the silence in the room hung heavily.

“Bucky has gone to get their travel papers.” Stefen answered after a long pause with a slight nod. “He is supposed to be back today. We’ll set out as soon as he arrives. Virginia, I’ll need those supplies.”

Pepper nodded quickly and hurried from the room, presumably to gather whatever supplies it was that Stefen was referring to. Tony wouldn’t know. Stefen had not chosen to disclose the details with him.

“Travel papers?” he questioned.

“There is a ship waiting in Belgium to take the twins to England.” Tony blinked, startled at the bald honesty Stefen offered him so quietly. He looked up just as Stefen took another step toward him. “We found someone at the immigration office willing to forge their papers. I can’t tell you more than that, Tony. The less you know-”

“Yes, I know.” Tony interjected with a tired smile. “The better not to have it tortured out of me if the police come back.”

Stefen flinched.

“Tony.”

“Stefen. Someone tipped them off. Someone in this house.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Stefen insisted, but Tony could see it on his face. He’d already thought the same thing. Hammer’s name hovered on the edge of Tony’s tongue but he hesitated. What proof did he have, besides a bad feeling? Hammer might be an oily weasel but he’d been with the Rogers family for a lot longer than Tony had.

“I’ll dismiss the staff for the rest of the night,” Stefen announced after a long moment and Tony nodded numbly in relief, the tightness in his chest loosening just enough to hint at beginning to feel normal again.

“I’ll check on Wanda and Pietro when the coast is clear.”

~*~*~

Bucky returned four hours after the sun had set. Tony had fed and bathed the children and put them to bed by the time that the old car rolled up the drive and Harold let Bucky through the back door. Steve was waiting with the twins in the kitchen with Virginia who had already packed their bags and had them waiting by the door. She’d tightly drawn the curtains on all the windows and closed the shutters, on the off chance that should either the police or one of the staff return unexpectedly they would not be able to see the iron tub propped up on the table or the way that Captain Rogers housekeeper was gently working dye through Wanda’s hair.

Pietro, who had already finished the process himself, was sitting perched upon a stool nearby, silently watching as his sister’s dark locks of hair were transformed into dark stringy blond. Neither child had spoken since Tony had gone to fetch them from the attic, still horribly shaken by the afternoons events.

The anxious worry that had been winding tightly within Steve’s gut since the police had come and gone that afternoon finally eased at the site of Bucky stomping through the kitchen door, but Bucky’s eyes immediately narrowed on Tony standing unobtrusively behind Pepper, with a steadying hand on Wanda’s back offering silent support. Steve saw the way that Bucky’s eyes caught the bandage wrapped around Tony’s hand – from where the boy had tried to stab Tony before he’d realized it was him and not the return of the police – and widened, then how they flew toward Steve in a silent demand for an explanation.

“Time tables moved up Buck.”

“What the hell happened?!” Bucky demanded to know.

“The police came. Somebody tipped them off.” Tony explained quietly and Bucky’s eyes flew back to him. Steve tensed, already knowing what Bucky was going to say.

“Funny that.” Bucky spat with a dark glower. “What’s the matter Stark, they not paying you enough at the intelligence office? Figured you’d play both ends?”

Tony’s brows shot up in surprise as he glanced warily between the two of them, his mouth falling slightly open.

“What?”

“Bucky leave it.” Steve interjected, stepping between the two and effectively blocking Tony from the other man’s sight. Bucky didn’t fail to notice the gesture either and looked an inch away from taking a swing at Steve. Steve almost wished he would. He was wound too tight and waiting for Bucky without knowing what had delayed him or if he was still okay had only made it worse. He could use a good fight just then.

“Leave it? You’re telling me someone ratted on us and you’re sticking up for a fucking spy!” Bucky hollered and Steve opened his mouth with the full intent to retort, but he halted when he felt Tony’s hand on his arm and let the monk push him aside, dumbfounded as he stepped toward where Bucky stood with a low growl.

“Let’s get one thing straight, I’m not a spy. I’m a governess, _Bucky_ , and if you wake up the children after the hours I spent trying to get them calm enough to sleep, so help me.” Tony snapped and Bucky’s mouth clicked shut, blinking at the monk in a complete loss for words like he couldn’t decide if he was insane or not. Steve had the absurdly inappropriate desire to laugh just then.

“Tony’s right. The children are sleeping. Let’s all calm down.” Steve said instead, in a far calmer tone than he would have managed moments before and Bucky looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, mouth falling open slightly.

“The children… are sleeping?” he repeated slowly as if he couldn’t believe he’d heard the words right. “Well ain’t that just the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Pepper said into the strained silence that followed, a scold to her tone. She was wrapping Wanda’s wet hair in a dry towel, gently squeezing the dampness out of it.

“Thank you, Virginia.” Steve snapped back into action, gesturing to Harold to begin loading the supplies into the car. “Harold the car. Bucky, did you get the papers?”

“Of course I have the fucking papers.” Bucky groused reaching inside his pocket for two slim envelopes and thrusting them toward Steve with a glower. “Only late cause the car blew a tire and I had to wait on help. Should have seen me sweat riding with the patrol.”

Steve’s stomach twisted, imagining the close call but he simply nodded briskly opening the envelopes to examine the folded documents within. Immigration papers for Anya and Péter Maximoff, officially stamped and everything.

He looked up and his eyes met Bucky’s, contrite, grateful and equal parts determined.

“Thank you.”

Bucky scoffed and shrugged off the thanks, clapping a hand against Steve’s back in a familiar gesture of silent agreement to just let bygones be bygones.

“Don’t thank me till we get them past the gestapo.” he said as Harold appeared in the doorway to signal that the car was ready for departure.

“We should go while we still have the cover of dark,” Steve instructed. He caught Pietro’s eye and inclined his head stiffly toward the door. The boy grabbed his sisters hand but didn’t move and Stefen’s heart tugged when Tony laid gentle hands on their backs and pushed them forward and followed Steve and Bucky as they made their way out toward where Harold waited with the car.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” he asked lowly once Bucky got both children settled inside and Steve had stepped back. Seeing the worry so clearly in his eyes warmed something inside of Steve. It wasn’t the moment for it, but he thought Tony’s eyes were just as gorgeous in the moonlight as he remembered.

“We’ll be fine.” Steve reassured him in what he hoped was a soft tone. It must have been close because Tony didn’t bristle or try to argue with him for once.

“You’ll be back in time to see Péter off to school, won’t you Captain? He’ll be sorely disappointed if you’re not.”

Tony said it with that familiar air of imperious demand, but Steve could see the plea for what it was in his eyes and he fought the desire to lean down and claim the man’s mouth, kiss him until his lips were lax and stung and the lines of worry around his mouth had disappeared.

“Just Péter?” he asked, his mouth tilting in a small private smile as Tony struggled to hide how anxious he was. It was fascinating to watch the emotions move across his face, to recognize the moment when he rallied his defenses and came back with as good as he was getting.

“I’ll shoot you Stefen if you force me to put that child on a boat without you.” Tony responded without a hint of humor, stepping in closer to Steve like he might not wait for Steve to do the claiming. “And that would be a terrible waste, when there are so many other things I’d rather do.”

Tony’s voice was pitched so low Steve doubted anyone besides himself could hear it, but it seemed to hit him hard just the same. There was blood pounding in Steve’s ears, so perhaps it was a good thing that Bucky called his name, urging him to hurry when he did. Steve swallowed, and with difficulty laid a hand upon Tony’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he backed up a step and allowed the cool night air to rush between them.

 “Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Stark,” Steve said softly in parting and Tony nodded slightly, resigned but brave.

“Addio, Capitano.”

 

~*~*~*~

The captain was gone for over a week. The house was uncommonly subdued in his absence, the shock of the police visit and his sudden departure in the middle of the night along with Wanda and Pietro unsettling the children.

Tony did his best to keep them occupied with lessons and to keep their mind off of worry, but as the days stretched with no sign or word from Stefen it grew harder and harder to keep up appearances.  He was forced to begin making arrangements for Péter’s passage to Switzerland, even though the thought of sending Péter off without knowing what had happened to his father kept him up at night. Péter’s excitement had dimmed with each passing day, and Tony knew that it was weighing heavily on him. Tony worried the boy would decide not to go, and that he might have the horrible task of forcing him to for his own good.

Go on boy. Leave your family and everything you love behind you, for your own good.

It was just proof wasn’t it? People became their parents whether they’d like to or not.

Tony found himself doing a lot more praying that any moment now, the old car would come rolling up the drive and Harold would ring the bell in the garage for Pepper to alert her of the Captain’s return.  That afternoon found Tony in the garden with the girls walking the paths where he and the Captain often walked in the cool air of evening. He was trying not to worry, but he wasn’t the only one with Stefen on his mind. Beside him Sara gave a dissatisfied huff and sat back on her heels.

“Tony, where’s Vati?” she asked, her pink lips forming a dreadful pout and Tony’s heartstrings twisted.

“He’ll be back soon bambina. Your vati is a very important person and sometimes that takes him away.” Tony assured her, smoothing back the fly away wisps of hair on her forehead that had escaped Natacha’s careful plaiting.

Of course when he said it, he had no idea just how true those words were. At that very moment two things were happening. Harold who was taking his lunch on the steps outside the garage hearing the sound of an approaching motor car sat up suddenly, and recognizing the old family car ran to ring the house bell and alert the staff to make ready for the captain’s return.

In the front of the house young Henry Osborn was ringing the doorbell, an official letter from the German Army in his hands, stamped with the Führer’s seel.

 

_To whom it may concern:_

_Per order of Adolf Hitler, Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, Stefen Gavril Rogers is to report for active service within the Wehrmacht – First mountain Division, September the 2 nd 1938\. Failure to report for duty will be counted as desertion and punishable with death.  _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you've made it through the next leg of this epic. We're dying to know what your thoughts are. Steve is off to the army and there go our blissful summer days. But there's always Berlin to look forward to eh. I hope you forgive Bucky and his problematic self, but in his defense this really is a shit show. :P


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As war looms, Captain Rogers is called away and Tony finds himself in the entirely unforeseeable predicament of raising seven children he didn't even have the pleasure of making. Okay, not _entirely_ unforeseeable. Then again there's what good sense tells you and what the heart tells you.Let it be known that Tony's heart should never be trusted in matters of life and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeee're back. All the apologies that this took so long. First life. Then we wanted to get it just right. Then more life. The good news is we have prepared THREE WHOLE CHAPTERS in advance to put more of a buffer between timely updates and life, so they should come steadier from now on. We hope you enjoy, and if you love us anywhere near as much as we love writing this story please feed us with a kind word or two. If you hated it I guess you can say that too. ;)

_August 30th Salzburg, 1938_

Ian watched the mail boy peddle away from the house. The wind picked up, tossing his hair and ruffling the delivery boy’s satchel. He shivered despite the warmth of the day and glanced back toward Artur who had paused, still holding one of their makeshift barometers, watching the boy on the bicycle along with him and James. They were far enough out in the yard that the delivery boy’s retreating back didn’t disappear until he rounded the corner a few moments later.

“It’s not time for the post again.” James remarked at Ian’s shoulder. He was in charge of taking down the temperature in their log book. It was unusually warm for fall and Tony had Ian and his younger siblings tracking the weather for patterns. They’d made a barometer out of a jar, that actually worked. Still, their assignment might have gone smoother if Artur would pay attention and stop singing that song about the goat herder Tony had taught them.

Ian had been doing his best to keep the others focused on their work until he’d noticed the delivery boy.

James was right, the post had already come once today. That meant the message had to be urgent. Ian righted himself and wiped his sweaty bangs out of his face to look back out at the road again, biting his lip. Something wasn’t right.

There was a sound behind him, like the creak and swish of doors opening and Ian turned. Uncle Bucky nodded at him from where he’d appeared on the veranda, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders hunched. Father was there too, trotting down the steps at a pace that while not charging was definitely the sort that meant they should go to him right away. Not that any of them needed much encouragement for that.

“Vati!” Artur squealed, so excited to see that father had returned that he dropped the jar. Ian made a lung for it but couldn’t catch it in time, but thankfully it landed with a soft thump in the grass none the the worse for wear. Artur plowed ahead and threw himself at father, James scuttling not far behind. Ian followed much slower, his stomach doing funny flips unable to shake the feeling of dread he had.

He was just being stupid, he told himself, but another more insistent voice kept whispering that something was wrong.

Father scooped up Artur and braced himself against James’s tackle. Now that Ian was closer he could see how pale he was.

“Da?”

Father looked up at him, the thin line of his mouth turning up slightly into a wane smile at the sound of Ian’s voice. The smile didn’t reach his eyes but at the same time there was something like relief in them – a sight that only made Ian’s stomach feel like he was in the middle of falling. Why was he relieved to see them? What did he think was going to happen to them while he was gone?

Ian’s eyes flicked over him in quick darts, looking for signs that he’d been hurt (because sometimes he came home hurt, even though he tried to hide it) and noticed that in the hand that was resting on James back, his father was clutching a gray envelop with a red seal on it.

Oh no.

Ian’s stomach began to sink into his toes even as his heart tried to climb its way up into his throat.

Their father hoisted Artur higher on his hip and turned back toward the house, gesturing for him and James to follow. “Come inside, boys. There is something important I have to tell you.”

Ian swallowed and trudged along behind them, that voice inside his head getting thinner and thinner with each frantic repetition.

Oh no. oh no. Oh no.

~*~

Ian couldn't believe his ears. No matter how many times he tried to refocus on what their father was saying, the words just slid past like water. Nothing seemed to stick.

"That means you’re going to war." Ian heard himself say softly, the words seeming to echo inside the suddenly quiet room. They’d all gathered inside the sitting room, the whole house. Even Cameron, who nobody ever saw anymore because Herr Hammer said that hall boys should be out of sight and out of mind.

Ian’s mother hadn’t thought that. She’d always been kind to Cam, and even let them play together sometimes when his work was done. If his mother were here –

Ian aborted the thought. If mother were here it would be the same.

Father would still be standing beside the fireplace, taking a deep breath and swallowing it down. Ian couldn’t tell what it was this time that father was trying to suppress. Whether it was sadness or anger or all of it. Ian stared up at him from where he was crammed between James and Maria on the sofa. Though there was plenty of space for them to stretch about around the room, he and his siblings had collected together till they were practically on top of each other. They were all silent as gravestones, waiting to hear what father’s answer would be. Artur was sucking silently on his fingers, his eyes round and glassy with welling tears.

Father was being called back to active duty, effective immediately. It could only mean one thing. But father shook his head and denied it.

“No. That’s not something you need to worry about right now.”

Ian didn’t have to be looking at Tony to know he’d tensed in his seat. It was something he could just feel in the air. When he did look he was not surprised by the stillness of his expression or the unspoken anger he seemed to be holding back behind clenched teeth. Tony didn’t believe him either.

“But I’ve still got to go,” Father sighed.

“I may be gone for quite a long time, which will mean a lot of changes around here. Lucky we’ve done this before, right?”

Father mustered up a smile for them to match the warm and tender quality of his tone. He didn’t sound at all like himself anymore. More like he was before mother died, back when he was just Da.

“I want you all to be able to stay here and continue on just as you are. Bucky will be leaving for a little bit but he’ll be in and out to check on you all. Herr Stark has agreed to be responsible for the children. I’ll be leaving word with the magistrate so there should be no issue, but he will need assistance from all of you.”

Father’s gaze roamed over them and Ian couldn't read what was swimming in their depths.

It scared him.

“Herr Hammer and I will both be staying in the house on a permanent basis until the captain returns. Julia we’ll need the rooms freshly turned over.” Frau Hogan announced to the servants before her gaze landed on Julia who nodded somberly to show that she’d heard.

“There will be some shifting of duties, which will mean longer hours for us all, but that is no excuse to let the house fall to shambles. Everyone will do their part or suffer the consequences. Anyone who wishes to stay at the house rather than continue their commute is encouraged to do so, and should let Frau Hogan know in a timely fashion so we can have the rooms cleaned, ” Herr Hammer added in addition.

"Do any of you have further questions?" Father asked once silence had fallen once more. He asked in the way that meant now he needed them to be soldiers, strong and clever even if they didn’t understand everything or even want to be.

Ian nodded vigorously, clutching the Barometer he still held closer to his chest, it's lid biting into his collarbone. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to. He couldn't think straight, couldn’t catch the words properly.

He understood. He nodded again. He understood. Maybe the little ones didn’t' but Ian would help them to understand. It was just like when he was little. Father would go away for months but he’d come back. Mama would smile and laugh and show him the new baby and the house would fill with music.

Only, she couldn’t. Could she? There would be no more new babies and no more happy music because she- Tony would play music. Yes. Tony would play music. Da would tell them stories.

Ian shut his eyes hard.

It was just like last time. They would make do, and then Da would come home. It was just like last time.

Something rustled and Ian’s eyes snapped open. Over by the fireplace his father was methodically folding the letter with his summons back into its envelop, paying it far too much attention to be normal. The bright red and black swastika seal stood out on the vanilla carbon paper. Father's gaze finally lifted to fall on Tony first, then Uncle Bucky, something dark passing between them all and then finally it landed on Ian and his siblings, where they were huddled. Ian stared back hard as his thoughts tumbled around his head.

Everyone was leaving.

First Peter and now their father.

And then like someone had flicked a light switch everyone was moving, the room emptying out like a water bucket with holes as the servants paused to give Father their well wishes and then rushed off to see that everything was set for his departure.

Uncle Bucky went straight away to father's office. Ian could hear the door slam even from down the hall. He could hear his father speaking, his voice gone brittle and clipped as he tried to explain again to James, who’d latched onto his arm, why he was leaving.

Ian didn't blame him for being aggravated. James wasn't stupid and neither of them liked it when he acted like he couldn't understand things.

Sara had started to cry, big fat tears that made her little body wobble. Father frowned and gave it up as a bad job and scooped her up, shushing her quietly.

Ian slid off the sofa, looking for Tony in the spinning room. In a moment Tony would touch his shoulder and maybe smile at him.

There, he’d say. Everything would be okay.

But when Ian’s gaze finally found him, rising from his seat, he was grim and silent. A muscle in his cheek bone twitched, making him look as if he was trying not to be sick. He seemed to not notice Ian at all as he approached father, eyes sharp and fierce like he intended to shout at father. But his voice was almost too low to be heard when he did speak in a calm and measured tone.

“Stefen. We need to talk.”

Something passed between father and Tony, their eyes speaking without words as they so often did. It was yet another look Ian couldn't decipher, though he always tried his hardest. Then father was nodding and handing Sara down into Natacha’s arms.

“Children, get ready for dinner,” Tony instructed them firmly, sparing them a brief nod. Dinner wasn't for another two hours but no one argued.

While father disappeared with Tony to some place private (some place they were not quite invited) Ian and his siblings stood in the now empty room, shooting each other with worried looks as the grownups quickly went about their business.

Ian worried his lower lip with his teeth, only stopping with a wince when he tasted blood.

Peter let out a breath of air that maybe was a laugh, maybe not, and turned to look at him. Rubbing the back of his neck he said, “I guess you’ll be the man of the house now, Ian.”

Ian’s insides were doing funny things again. He swallowed.

“Shut up.” Tacha hissed, glaring at Peter, and Ian flinched. Did she not think he could do it? That hurt. Ian didn't think he’d be so bad at being…a leader. Maybe.

“What else am I supposed to say, Tacha. You heard father.” Peter countered their sister waspishly, throwing a hand out in the direction the grown-ups had left in, frowning at her.

“I won’t listen to him!” James announced suddenly from where he stood, glaring at the floor. Ian felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“You have to,” Artur whispered, clutching Maria's hand in his and sucking on the fingers of his free one anxiously. He was too old to still be doing that, Ian thought distantly.

“No. If father wants me to listen to him then he should stay and...and” James sputtered to a halt, his brow crunching together in explosive frustration as he failed to find the words for just what he thought it was their father should do.

“And what, make you?” Tacha raised an eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest, always a dangerous sign.

“He should stay.” James shot them all a glare, daring Peter and Ian to challenge him. As if he were the only one who cared that father was going back to the army.

“That’s not...you know that's not how it works.” Ian started to say, but James crossed his arms and stomped his foot angrily and shouted over him.

“Yes it is! He’s the Lion of Austria, he can do whatever he likes!”

“That’s NOT how it works!” Peter’s voice rang out. Maria cringed, covering her face and crumpled into tears.

Ian should have stayed, at least to comfort Maria but, but he didn't want to. He didn’t know what that meant.

Shame flushed through him. What would father think, Ian not wanting to comfort his crying baby sister?

But he knew a losing battle when he saw one. The look on James face coupled with the feeling in Ian's gut and Peters thunderous expression… Nothing good was going to come for the rest of the day. Maybe not for many many days.

~*~*~

 

  
Tony's heart was pounding as Stefen closed the door of the music room behind them. He'd been mildly surprised that Stefen had chosen the room until he remembered that he'd seen Bakhuizen heading for Stefen's study after he’d dropped the bombshell on them.

"I hope you don't mind that I told the children you'd be caring for them before we had a chance to speak." Stefen began as soon as the door had clicked shut and Tony shot him a peeved look.

"What? Angry that you presumed I would be willing to be responsible for the lives of seven children not my own, while you are gone for- what a year, two, three or four?" Tony growled and Stefen's nostrils flared, his brows arching minutely in a barely there and gone again expression of surprise and hurt, that Tony could only read because he was a damned fool.

"You're right of course.” Stefen replied stiffly. “I presumed. Herr Stark if I misread-"

"Do not Herr Stark me, and shut up if you're not going to say anything worthwhile." Tony growled once more in irritation, turning form the man to pace, because if he didn't pace he was going to possibly hit him or worse start kissing him again. He’d kiss the man and never stop, never let go of him so he couldn’t go off and get himself killed.

"You didn't misread anything and you know it." Tony reprimanded. That was the whole damn problem. Pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the throbbing pressure between his eyes Tony muttered darkly to himself, "What the hell am I doing?"

"Tony," the captain walked toward him, his tone beseeching but Tony turned and glared at him in warning.

"No! I'd truly like to know. You hired me to teach your children and shield them from the scrutiny of the Reich. I accepted because I wanted to be free of the abbey and hoped to find an easy way to leave all this wretchedness behind me,” Tony cast an arm out tiredly, pointing to the entirety of the hopeless mess he found himself in. “But now there's you and the children and I… Stefen you're going off to war. Where does that leave me?"

"Tony," Stefen said his name again, even gentler and reached slowly for his hands. This time Tony didn't make any move to stop him.

"Tony haven't you been listening? I want you to stay. Nothing has changed."

Tony barked a disbelieving laugh. Was Stefen truly that naive? Or maybe he was just that stubborn.

"Everything has changed. You can't fight for them Stefen, you can't."

Tony didn't know if Stefen could live with he did. Tony didn’t know if he could live with himself, falling in love with someone who could do that. Raising his children in comfort. Eating at his table. Sleeping in his bed.

"Tony, I don't intend to.” Stefen refuted quietly, to Tony’s surprise.

“Do you mean that? Have you thought more about running?”

But Tony could tell by Stefen’s expression even as he asked it that it wasn’t the case. Stefen still refused to desert the army, desert Austria, when he still felt he could save it somehow.

“I know it's hard to see it now but you must trust me. There are people working to put an end to this, people who would do anything to stop us from going to another war. "

Tony made a sour face.

"Believe it or not vague promises aren't that reassuring to me right now. "

"Then trust this promise." Stefen squeezed his hands hard as if he thought Tony might try and pull away again. "Trust that no matter what happens I'll take care of you and the children. We'll go to Switzerland and start again together. You, me and the children."

"Until they are done with school?" Tony pressed and Stefen pulled him closer by the hand, until they were toe to toe and he could settle a hand on Tony’s hip, as if they might start a dance.

"I’d say till you were sick of me, but honestly not even then.”

“What a frightening thing to say to someone.” Tony managed to get out, swallowing to wet his dry mouth. He was right to be worried. Right to question why he was sticking around when all good sense told him to pack his bags and leave Austria on the morning train.

He needed to think with his head and not his cock. He’d say there was merit in trusting ones heart, but his was damnably flawed and past the point of corruption where the Captain was concerned.

And judging by the man’s smile he damn well knew it.

“You don’t believe me now but I’ll show you Tony. You’ll see.”

Stefen pulled him closer and Tony tensed, thinking he was about to be kissed and somehow terrified of that fact, but Stefen just tucked Tony tight to his chest, arms wrapping securely around his back and held him. Tony shuddered, eyes closing as he clutched the back of Stefen’s shirt.

*~*~*~

 

  
Ian had slipped away to his room. He stayed away for dinner too. Everyone must have been feeling whatever it was that was sitting in his stomach too, because father didn't even make him come down to eat with everyone at dinner time and Tony and Uncle Bucky let him be.

He'd gone straight to his room. Straight to his bookshelf.

Warmth had flooded through him as he’d plucked the green and gold book down from the little shelf just above his bed. A little American authored book. His favorite even though it was one of the ones Virginia and father told him he had to keep hidden. He had a few like that, that father had brought home and some Virginia had gotten from her father before they had been banned.

She’d even given him one that was entirely in English. Though he still couldn't read it well yet, he got a delightful thrill thumbing through the pages and guessing at the pictures.

His little green book opened easily, the pages worn to a soft almost velvety texture. He traced a finger over the letters, _Calico Bush_ , and flipped it open to a random page, though really, there were no random pages in any of his books. Every time he opened one it was like restarting a conversation with an old friend.

Ian had lain on his bed, his books spread out around him, for what felt like hours. Artur had come in what must have been right after dinner, still smelling of Willamina’s cooking and after cooing a bit at Mon Ami in his frog cage about how they were all going to be fine (as if the frog were the one with the worries) his younger brother had curled up beside Ian on the bed with a book of his own book.

Ian noticed he’d drawn in the margins with pictures of birds and other animals. Artur was getting quite good at his little drawings.

Artur’s company had been nice, made his stomach less wibbly, but then Artur had fallen asleep, his face buried in Ian’s shoulder. Ian let out a shaky breath. His thoughts inevitably turning once more to his father leaving.

Maybe if he hid his uniform? Not the whole thing, just a vital. Or his cap! Then the army would have to wait for him to get another one before he could leave. Every good soldier knew a missing article on a uniform was as good as being naked.

No. He wanted his father to stay but that was wrong somehow, like wishing Peter wasn’t smart enough to go off to school.

Ian’s eyes skirted over the room until they stopped suddenly, stuck on a familiar shape hanging by his dresser. He sat up, careful not to wake Artur.

That was it.

His dress uniforms hung pressed and ready for use. Ian always had them ready, that was just how you did things. He snatched them off the hanger bed and without stopping to think and ripped off the patch Julia had sewn on. It lay limply in his hand like a crushed butterfly. Gritting his teeth, Ian began to rip off the buttons.

With his stomach in his throat he rushed to find his father.

~*~

 

“Father?”

Da looked over his shoulder at him. He was in uniform already. Ian swallowed, even in the low lighting he could see the sheen of sweat on his father’s skin, as if he’d gone for a run.

“Father?” he tried again. “I need my buttons sewn on. They’ve come off.” His father cocked an eyebrow at him. Ian’s face heated. This was a stupid plan. Da would see right through him. He could have gone to any one of the maids, he could even have gone to Tony.

Just when Ian thought he'd been found out, his father gestured for him to come in. Ian padded over and held out his dress blouse.

“I asked but Julia's busy,” and before he could stop himself he added hastily to the lie. "So are Greta and the other maids"

"Are they now?" Da said knowingly, a little smile playing on his lips.

To Ian's surprise he took the garment anyways and turned it over in his large hands. He could see the buttons had been ripped right out, Ian was sure of it. He looked down at his feet as he waited. His father’s eyes flicked to him and he turned from his canvas bag that was lying open on the bed.

“You wanna wait here while I fix it?"

Ian nodded and shuffled closer.

"I don't mind you missing dinner tonight, Ian. Today’s not been easy on anybody. But it would have been nice to see you,” his father said as he rummaged through his drawer, retrieving a little sewing kit. Thankfully he didn't say anything about how many buttons were gone. He just held a hand out, palm turned up as Ian dropped all seven of them into his hand.

Ian wriggled where he stood, waiting anxiously as his father began to repair the damage. He wanted to say something. It was on the tip of his tongue to do so, but the words wouldn't come out. They were all stuck like marbles in his mouth. He couldn’t even get past forming them in his head.

“When is Uncle Bucky coming back?” he asked after a few minutes of silence.

“In a week or so. He can’t leave for very long. He’s gotta get his papers done again,” da muttered, his attention focused on threading the needle. Though Ian’s father had a habit of looking focused on something but really paying attention to something else. He did it all the time with Tony.

Ian let out a sigh of relief and then felt immediately guilty. He shouldn't be happy Uncle Bucky’s papers needed updating but if it meant he had to stay in Austria Ian couldn’t help it. Maybe Peter’s papers would need updating too and they wouldn’t let him leave either.

Father made short work of the buttons with the needle and thread. Ian knew boys that would be embarrassed by their fathers knowing anything about sowing (woman's work) but Ian didn't find it so worrisome.

Instead he tried what the grown-ups did when they wanted desperately to make something go away.

Small talk.

He told Da all about Ada Brawer and Gisella Keats, two of the girls in Natacha's group that had been making strange faces at him for weeks. Gisella was an alright sort of girl with bright red hair and dark slanted eyes. She was good at running and told funny jokes. Ada on the other hand had a way of looking at Ian that made him uncomfortable. Like she wanted to own him or something.

Tacha said they liked him and that he had to do something about it, and that the best thing to do was to either start walking one of them home or say he was saving himself for God and country. When Ian told his father that he looked startled before he laughed.

"You should ask your uncle, or Tony. I've never been good at talking to woman. I still can't believe I managed to string two words together to talk to your mother." Da chuckled softly, working the needle deftly. Ian wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want to talk to those girls. James was much better at talking to people, girls specifically, and everyone adored Artur and Tacha. Ian just couldn’t seem to muster the courage, or the words. The words where the biggest problem.

He could feel himself blushing as he muttered, "I don’t want to talk to a woman, just girls. How do I talk to them?"

His Da paused to think, mulling his words over.

"Just...they're people, start with that first." He said slowly. "Like you’re talking to Peter or Tacha. Or one of your friends, you can talk to them can't you?"

Ian blinked. He wasn’t really sure he had friends.

He waited anxiously for him to continue but Da just shook his head, smiling ruefully at him.

"That's it, that's all I've got." He muttered.

"Really? But, but..."

"I told you I'm not any good!" Da reached out and pushed his shoulder, teasing him gently. "Tell her you like her dress today or something. Tell Gisella, she's good at running.”

A giggle burbled up from in Ian’s chest and he clamped his lips shut over it but just ended up snorting loudly.

"Isn't that just stating a fact?" He asked after he was able to school his expression.

"Don’t know. Is stating a fact flirting?” Da smiled back at him, like he knew Ian was fighting it. “I told you your uncles better at this than I am."

Ian’s chest clenched tightly and he fidgeted where he stood suddenly antsy.

What did it matter if he told? Da knew how to handle anything, he'd help make it better. Still his father was in a very talkative mood for once and Ian didn’t want to ruin it.

It was on the tip of his tongue to say it. He didn’t want to walk Gisella home and get her pregnant, no matter what their group leaders said. He already had his younger siblings to look out for and well, he rather have a dog instead. It wasn’t what he was supposed to want but dogs were nice. Even if they couldn’t grow up to be warriors for the empire like babies.

“Da?” his father looked up at him.

“When are you coming back.”

Father held his gaze, gently setting the blouse aside and fixing him with a very worrisome look.

“I don’t know Ian, you know that.”

It wasn't often Ian felt like grown-ups told him the truth. Tony tried the most and Virginia never out right lied to him but rarely did grown-ups try to tell him the whole truth. He wasn't sure he much liked it now.

“There’s gonna be a parade to welcome Commander Goering and Von Brauchitsch to Vienna” his father told him after a moment.

“Why? ” Ian asked, cocking his head. That was very different. In the past his father had always been stationed somewhere far away in the mountains.

“The regiment is escorting him to Berlin, for his tour with the Führer. They’re going to inspect us and they want to make a spectacle of it. They want people to see us and be proud of us...and you. They’ll be looking at you too.”

Ian’s stomach dropped and he looked down at the floor.

“I hope…” his father began, a hand gently tipped Ian’s chin back up and Ian blinked back the pressure behind his eyes. Men didn’t cry.

“I hope I can come back soon, but I don’t know. But I do know you’ll be fine. You’re brave.”

He smoothed back Ian’s bangs and Ian couldn’t help it. The tears that had been building since his father had told them he was leaving began to spill, hot and salty onto his cheeks. Da didn’t say anything, just wiped them away before holding Ian’s face in his hands and looking him in the eyes. Already Ian was beginning to feel better.

“You’re very brave, you’re gonna have to be braver still and it's not fair.” Da’s voice scratched and he cleared it before going on. “But I know you can be. You hear me? Everything will be fine.”

Ian nodded vigorously.

“And then you’ll be back?”

His father’s nod was barley there but Ian sighed a breath of relief he'd not known he'd been holding.

"You can write me. I'll answer” he said. “I'll try to answer. I'm not always able," he amended with a slight grimace. Ian knew that. They all knew that, but it hadn’t made it any easier in the past for mother when their letters went unanswered or were returned with a rejection stamp, revealing that he had never gotten them at all.

Ian stared at him. Even sitting Father was taller than him, even if just a little. Ian had never been at this vantage point, or at least that he could remember. He was almost eye to eye with him.

He could be brave like Da he told himself. He could. He would.

“You know I’m counting on you to look after everyone.”

The words seemed like they hurt father on the way out, but that was odd. Because that's what they did, he and Da, look after everyone. That’s just what you were supposed to do.

Da reached out and touched his shoulder again, his hand smoothing over the worn play shirt Tony had made him before he looked up and met Ian’s gaze once more, a smile playing in his eyes.

“Would you like a new book?" He asked suddenly. "I can’t promise it’ll be a book for children-”

“I’m not a child,” Ian broke in earnestly.

Da gave him a weak smile.

“No, you’re not.”

His father moved back and picked up Ian’s blouse again and started on the last button.

“Would…“ father cleared his throat and tried again. “Would you like a new book?”

“Yes, please!” Ian blurted and then tried to school his features according to a soldier. He must have failed because Da chuckled.

“What kind of book?” he asked and Ian eagerly answered, already knowing exactly what he wanted.

“About the mandolin. I want to learn to play.”

“Well that settles it then.” Da tossed his newly sown blouse at him. Ian caught it before it smacked his face, trying not to giggle but he couldn't help the little burst of laughter.

“I’ll still miss you,” he blurted, still smiling. It was important to say that, he thought, just in case Da didn’t know.

When he’d been little Ian had been what grown-ups like to call difficult. He had never liked it when Da had to go away. It wasn't that difficult to figure out. Father leaving had always made mama and Baka anxious and sad, and Ian had worried that he wouldn’t come back.

He’d get so worried that he wouldn’t eat, sleep, or talk, which would make him sick and Mama would have to call the doctor. No matter what Dr. Erskine said or tried Ian never perked up till his father was home again.

One time, a new book had arrived a few days after father had left on a campaign. Ian remembered that Mama had opened it with him and there had been a little note inside that had said: Here’s a friend so you won’t miss me. Practice hard. When I get back I’ll need someone to read me to sleep.

Ian had started eating again and practiced his letters with Mama diligently every day, content with the unspoken promise in his hands. He’d still miss him, but Da always kept his word. He would be back, and when he was Ian would be ready to read to him. From then on, whenever Da left with the troops he’d send Ian a new book. Ian thought he’d forgotten the tradition after mama died.

He was happy he’d been wrong.

~*~

_September 1st 6:00 AM_

 

 

The grandfather clock downstairs chimed six, sounding through the air with more strength than ever before thanks to Tony.

Da’s room still looked as if he might come in at any moment. His jacket was still thrown against the dresser and the dressing kit he’d used to fix Ian’s blouse lay open on his desk.

Everything he’d need at the base fit into his canvas bag so he had just left everything else where it lay.

Ian eyed his father’s jacket lying over the dresser as if it were going to take life in the mirror's reflection. He straightened up and checked himself in the mirror again, smoothing his dress blouse meticulously, for the fifth time. It was perfect. Which was good. They needed to be perfect today.

The clock chimed again in warning and Ian sighed and stepped away from the mirror. A tall young man in a smart uniform, hair perfectly slicked looked back at him. He looked right. He looked ready to march in the parade and see the soldiers off. He looked like a soldier himself, like he’d be ready to join them if they asked.

His leaders in the HJ said he should always be ready.

Tony's strained yell floated down the hall, echoing through the house, as he called for Natacha to hurry up. A moment later he was yelling incredulously at James, who apparently hadn't even begun to get ready.

Ian suppressed a ping of guilt. He wasn't keeping his promise. He should have made sure James was getting ready too. James had been so stroppy, ever since father had left to be with the men before the big ceremony. His mood had gone south even more so yesterday morning when Uncle Bucky had swanned in at breakfast with his suitcase in toe.

He was off to Krakow, he’d announced, to visit his sister Rochel and her girl’s. Though the pinched look around his mouth maybe said that he either wasn’t looking forward to it or he wasn't telling the truth again. Maybe.

James hadn’t thought that uncle Bucky would leave with the rest of them and even telling him that Bucky would be coming back soon didn’t make him feel better about it. Ian couldn’t blame him for being disappointed. Something wasn’t right about Bucky leaving so suddenly right when they wanted him there the most.

Uncle Bucky’s jacket wasn't as smooth as it normally was and Ian knew that meant he’d taken his money out of the bank and hidden it in the lining of his jacket. Uncle Bucky had shown him that trick when he was seven and warned him never to trust somebody else with his fortune.

“Ian?”

Ian turned at the sound of Tony's voice to find their tutor leaning against the door frame watching him with a strange look on his face. Tony was thinking again, those thoughts that made him stay in the garage hours on end, the ones that made lessons hard to follow and Tony brittle at meal times.

But in any mood, it was nice having Tony around. With him around they made eight instead of seven. Well, not always because Da was home far more than before but still. Peter usually banded with Tacha, Maria and Artur practically came glued together and made a little triangle with Sara. Ian normally got stuck with James who-

Ian pushed the thought away and the rising annoyance at James with a vengeance. With Tony here now there was someone there at the other end of his long thinks. He didn't mind being alone but it wasn't the same as being lonely. Being alone was simple enough to stop when you wanted, but Ian found he could be lonely in a room full of people and never knew how to make it stop.

It used to be his mother who found him in his thoughts, and when he could his father had before mama died. Because there was a before version of his father and an after. Sometimes, there was something frightening in the way father would hold himself, the way shadows crossed his face and made him different, someone Ian didn't recognize anymore. Peter used to complain that father had lost any interest in them when mama died.

Ian knew that wasn't true, but whatever father had in him that made him the way he was, he didn't want it. Ian knew this without a doubt because sometimes, sometimes he felt it was in him too. No one wanted to feel trapped in their head… but sometimes it was hard not to be.

“Yes?” he answered belatedly, and Tony took a breath, paused and then swallowed whatever it was he had been going to say. It didn't happen often but Ian knew what it looked like now. Tony had smudges of oil at the corner of his jaw, like he’d tried to wipe his face clean and missed a spot.

He pushed off the door frame and made his way toward Ian, an inexplicable expression in his dark eyes.

“You can fiddle with that all you like you know, but you can’t make it any more perfect.” Tony murmured. He rubbed at his eye absently, the aggravated white turned pink standing out now that he was so close to Ian.

“Did you sleep?” Ian asked, with worry. “You need to sleep, Tony.”

Tony blinked and looked down at him, startled, before he let out a bark of laughter.

“Your father gave you orders I see.”

Ian frowned, Tony made it sound like it was a bad thing.

“It’s important, Tony. Klaus Stolz fainted during a march once because he stayed up too late the night before.” Ian told him.

“I appreciate the advice, but I’m the adult, Ian” Tony replied. “I look after you, not the other way around.”

Ian stared back at him, mouth firmly set.

“Father told me to look after everyone. That‘s you too.”

Tony sighed and ruffled his hair, chuckling as Ian batted him away with a horrified squeal of protest. It had taken him so long to get it just right!

“Well then, Patino, help me get the others ready,” Tony requested and Ian nodded, smoothing down his hair.

~*~

“Get away from me, I don’t like you! No one likes you!”

James hurled the book in his hand and Ian ducked as the heavy volume sailed just past his ear.

“James Rogers!” Tony barked, snatching at the back of James collar, swinging him around and grabbing his arms. “DO NOT THR-”

James kicked out at him, struggling with all his might but Tony held on tight wrestling him to the ground. No small feat, Ian knew. James was still skinny and on the short end but his strength when he got going always caught people off guard.

“James, stop!” Tony shouted just as James wriggled free and barreled towards the bookcase again.

Ian wasn't sure what had set him off this morning. Tony had only told him once more that he had to get ready for the parade.

Maybe it was because Peter didn’t have to go because he had to pack to leave for school in the morning. Ian could understand that. James wasn't the only one that was going to miss Peter. Still he didn't throw a tantrum whenever he felt like it was too much, Ian thought savagely as another book went airborne. Even Sara didn’t act out like this and she was only three.

“James those are mine!” He shouted anxiously as James zig zagged away to avoid Tony and leaped on top of Ian’s bed, grabbing at the books he had left there to throw them. Ian’s index of natural herbs and plant life sailed through the air and he darted forward to rescue it.

This was so stupid! James was being so-

“James, so help me I will lock you in the seller-” Tony made another snatch for James shirt collar, but James darted just out of reach and snatched up another book, this one green with gold writing.

Ian knew which one it was without even having to glimpse the title. Calico Bush sailed through the air to land at Ian's feet, splitting open with a crack that resounded in his ears.

James whipped his head around, blue eyes wide and for a moment Ian thought it was because he knew. He knew and hadn't cared that he’d broken Ian’s favorite book, but Tony was staring at him in shock as well and Tony couldn’t possibly know.

Ian realized belatedly that a long low wounded sound was coming out of his mouth.

He didn't care. That had been his favorite book. The first one. The first friend to keep him company.

“Ian?”

Tony had stooped to gingerly picked up the book, but the spine just completely split down the center, a few pages drifting out and fluttering to the ground like wounded birds.

Ian had already turned away. It was too hot and he didn't want to see what was left of the little book. He didn't want to look at his idiotic selfish little brother either.

“Ian, wait!” James called, running over to grab onto the back of his shirt.

“It's fine, Tony can fix it, can't you Tony?” James was saying and a flare of rage surged through Ian. He wrench himself free of James hands with a snarl.

“Why don't you listen! I told you not to touch my books!” he screamed and James shrank back, frightened. The silence that followed made him sick. Tony was staring at him like he had never seen him before.

Tony moved forward as if to comfort him, his eyes full of concern but Ian couldn't take them. He took a deep gulping breath but it just burned in his throat and didn't stop the sensation of boiling water under his skin.

“You don't ever think about anyone else! You're so selfish!” he hollered and to Ian’s dismay, hot stinging tears were pooling in his eyes. He wiped the away furiously frustration with himself, stringing his insides taught.

Men don’t cry! Stop crying! He screamed at himself.

But father had given him Calico Bush. Mama had read it to him every night even when he’d been sick, and when Mama had gotten sick he’d read it to her. She’d liked when he read to her. It had helped Da sleep. It helped Ian sleep when he missed them. It was all he had left of either of them and James had just thrown it like it was garbage!

“Ian?”

He jumped, flinching away at the hand Tony had tentatively rested on his shoulder. Tony pulled back, giving him space as if Ian were a spooked animal and swallowed the scream for them all to go away that was building behind his teeth. Darting forward he swept up the pieces of his book and its crumpled pages into his arms. Shoving James out of his way Ian ran out of the room, ignoring Tony's shout after him.

~*~

 

Ian lay where he'd collapsed, the fabric of the music rooms sofa biting into his face as he pressed it into the cousin.

He wanted Peter to stay.

With Peter gone Ian would have to be the leader. He’d promised Da, but….

Ian shoved the pillow tighter over his head. Embarrassment sat heavy in his stomach.

He was such a baby to be scared like this. But he’d always had Peter before. When Baka died, and then Mama… when Da became a stranger and looked at them like he hardly recognized them, Peter was still there. Coming up with schemes to torture their governesses and get their father’s attention and bossing them around but never leaving them alone.

But now he was. Just like everybody else.

Ian bit his lip, trying to stave off the sting of returning tears. A soldier wouldn’t cry.

His legs dangled over the sofas end and he pulled them in to his chest and finally peeked out from under the pillow. The piano stared back at him. He imagined if it could talk it would say something like, “if you’re trying to hide, you might try finding a place you can fit in”.

Its voice would sound like Tony.

Tony was probably somewhere getting the others ready while he waited for Ian to come out of hiding. He’d have a gentle smile waiting even though Ian had screamed at his brother and cried like a baby. He might even squeeze Ian’s shoulder and wink at him like he always did when Ian felt this way - like his lungs were trying to take flight and his head was wrapped in a wet blanket. Tony would squeeze his shoulder and wink, like it was their secret (like it was okay, and he’d never tell Da how scared he’d been) and all of that heaviness would all just sort of ease out of Ian. He was tired of feeling heavy.

Ian sighed. He tucked Calico close, caressing a bent page with his fingers.

He wasn't a little boy anymore and he had to be ready. For what he wasn't sure. Things weren't easy like in his books, where he could easily tell who was a villain and who was not.

He could recite it from heart, knew the story better than his drills and his ditties. His fingers trailed over the damaged pages and he sighed again, his heart sitting heavy in his chest. He couldn't help it, the stupid tears just leaked out of him no matter what he did. He didn’t want to be around the others he decided.

He didn’t want them to know. Sometimes he didn’t even want to know what he was thinking. It got very bad inside his head.

Tony had made them translate this poem once, a new verse every three days. It was very long but Ian didn’t mind because he had trouble with English and needed the practice.

It was about a sailor with a dead bird tied around his neck as punishment. No matter what he did he couldn’t get away from the bird. And it was a big, big bird. Tony said it was a metaphor.

Ian buried himself further into the sofa and growled. He didn’t like the poem. The image of the dead bird weighing down the sailor, imagining the constant overpowering stench.

He sometimes looked at his da and thought there might be something like that hanging round his neck. The thing that turned him into the Captain and not ‘da’. It felt like his da had always had it, whatever it was, and if that where the case then maybe…maybe Ian had it too.

There were days it felt like it. And now, now it felt like those days would never end.

The arm he was using to block the light with the pillow was wet again. He rubbed at his eyes till they stung. Men. Don’t. Cry. He thought viscously, hating that it did nothing to stop the urge.

The door to the music room creaked and Ian jerked, startled, sitting up to crane his neck and watch as the door creaked open.

Peter stuck his head inside a moment later, peering almost owlishly inside as he looked for Ian and finally spotting him curled on the sofa.

Ian shrank, feeling ashamed of being found like this but Peter didn’t comment on it or make fun of him. He shut the door gently behind himself and loped over on his long skinny legs. He barely waiting for Ian to move his legs before he plopped himself down.

He had a small jar in his hands which released a pungent chemical odor when he jerked the top off. Ian wrinkled his nose.

“Tony made a glue.” Peter explained as if he’d read his mind. “It smells rotten but I don’t think you’ll care if it works.”

Peter reached over and wordlessly plucked _Calico_ from Ian’s arms, careful of the loose pages he’d stuck between the two more solid sections.

“Do you know what order these go in?” Peter asked, brown eyebrows arching as he considered the pages and Ian nodded slowly. He knew where every word went.

“Good.” Peter nodded absently, already focused on lining up the edges of books spine.

Ian watched him work, eyes stinging for a completely different reason now, but it was easier this time to take a deep breath and just keep breathing.

“I can go to the parade with you. If you want.” Peter looked up from his work, brown eyes soft with sorrow and heavy with guilt. He was talking about more than the parade.

“What about school? Don’t you still have to pack?”

Peter shrugged, continuing his work as if his departure in the morning didn’t loom over them and it was inconsequential whether he was ready or not.

They all had things to do, ready or not.

“You should pack.” Ian stated decisively, his voice gaining strength. He’d still miss him but Peter should pack.

It would be fine. Everything was going to be okay. Da would come home and Peter would too.

Ian wouldn’t have to do anything with Gisela Keats, besides race her to the sweets trolley after training and it would all just be fine.

He let his eyes fall shut, listening to the sound of rustling pages and letting the acrid smell of the glue fill his nostrils.

Maybe, when he got home Da would even teach him how to play his mandolin.

~*~

_11:00 AM_

 

  
The crowd was deafening. Ian stood rigidly straight as Herr Gobbels looked proudly out over the audience from his place high above Ian’s head on the second podium. The minister of propaganda stepped back, raising his arm in a salute and the noise just got louder. Ian let out a small breath of relief. The speech was done. It had felt like Gobbels would never stop talking and Ian had never stood so long or straight in his life. More than once his vision had tunneled.

It was a parade like none he’d ever seen. So many important people had come down to see the men off - the minister of propaganda himself, accompanied by the newly appointed Admirals and the Commander of the Wehrmacht.

Ian was at the front, carrying the Wehrmacht's standard. It rested now against a shoulder, heavier then he thought it would be. The black and white Iron Cross emblem nearly dwarfed him as he shifted the heavy pole.

James, for once, was completely still at Ian’s shoulder, waiting for Ian to be given the command. Even Artur was standing perfectly at attention.

One, two, just one foot in front of the other. He could do it. He was brave. Ian clenched his jaw and marched onward. Over the sound of the crowd and the under-hum of music Ian thought he could hear the click of his younger brothers boots behind him. Three four five, perfectly measured thirty inch steps. Now pivot. He clicked his heels together and let the standard slide through his fingers until the stub thumped the ground and stared straight ahead, at his father who was standing upon the short stage.

Well, really Ian looked at his chest because his father looked impossible tall up there, but now that they were closer Ian could see that even though Da was standing at attention, his eyes were dead set on them, looking right at Ian.

Ian was given the last command and he lifted his arm straight out, fingers uncurling to present the General with his father’s new insignia.

General Striker plucked it out of his hand and turned to father, a small smile playing over his lips. It didn’t match the cold gleam in his eyes Ian thought, frowning a little. His eyes jerked back to his father to find that Da’s eyes were on Striker now. They were ice cold.

Striker pinned the insignia upon his father’s chest, pushing the pin until it was stationary. If Ian hadn’t been so close or paying such close attention he would have missed the way his father flinched. It was just a slight ticking in his eyebrows, a tensing in his shoulders, but it was enough to tell Ian that the General had punctured through to his skin. He knew his da well enough to know he was dangerously close to losing his temper.

Ian wanted to back up, but there was nowhere to go. And he wouldn’t, even if he could. He tried to keep himself perfectly straight as General Striker turned toward the audience, clasped his hands behind his back and declared that Germany’s future was secure with soldiers such as these to live and die for the good of the present and future of the German empire.

Out of the corner of his eye Artur shifted, his head turning slightly as wide blue eyes stared at him. Even he understood what General Striker meant.

Ian glanced back at Da who was as still as a statue, but this time his gaze was on them again, on Ian. This time, for the first time, Ian could read the strange expression on his face and he felt the floor drop out from underneath him.

Whatever was going to happen, it was nothing good for them. Ian was sure of it down to his bone. Because the impossible had already happened.

His da was afraid.

~~*~~

 

_September 2nd 7:30 am, Salzburg_

Peter was very quiet on the way to the station the morning he was to depart for Switzerland. The quiet was an unwelcome contrast to the chaos of that morning full of its goodbyes and last-minute tantrums on behalf of James – it was like James thought that Peter would hear his bad-tempered screaming and just up and decide not to go.

Maybe James wasn’t as silly as they all made him out to be, Peter thought glumly as he watched the streets of the city crawl past his window. Not long till they reached the station now. He still had time to tell Hogan to turn the car around.

Of course he wanted to go to school to learn chemistry and engineering, but Tony could teach him those things (Peter knew he could no matter what Tony said) and it would probably be better than what any stuffy Swiss professor could teach him.

But it wasn’t right leaving Natacha alone to take care of the others. She’d told him it was a good thing he was going, but she was just being brave about it. He could tell she didn’t really want him to.

He should stay, he thought with a sick feeling twisting in his gut.

Who was going to look out for Ian and keep him from murdering James? Who was going to make sure that Artur didn’t try to go searching in the lake for alligators again? And what were Anamarie and the other X-Men going to do without him?

“They’ll all get by without you, you know. You can always write letters when you miss us, and you’ll be home before you know it for fall break.” Tony murmured from the seat beside him, maybe reading Peter’s mind, or perhaps just familiar enough with the way he thought to guess.

“We’ve even talked about having a party for your birthday. A chance for you to see all your friends again.”

Peter looked up at Tony from where he had his hands clenched in his lap. They were clammy he noticed belatedly and grimaced, wiping them on the leg of his pants.

“I should be here. I know I should be,” he mumbled in reply, not acknowledging Tony’s see through attempts at cheerful distraction. Did Peter’s father really think the thought of a birthday party was going to make him forget those things that he’d said; what Wanda had said about what was happening to gypsies like them?

Peter couldn’t just go and leave everybody. Could he?

“Father said to just concentrate on being a kid for a change. But that’s selfish. Isn’t it? I know he’s the reason that I get to do this. I’m smart, but starting term late like this, finding me a dorm on such short notice, that’s because of his money. He pays them so I get to go, but Natacha and the others, and all our friends, they’re all stuck with whatever happens.”

Peter dug his fingers into his arm and twisted the sleeve of his shirt as he forced the words out, a tired admittance. It would be amazing to go to that school. He had wanted to. But that was selfish. He knew it was.

“Peter. Let your father and I worry about your siblings.” Tony gently squeezed his arm, drawing Peter out of his thoughts. His smile was small but encouraging as he continued softly in the quiet of the car, “You’re not wrong. You are blessed in a way that many others aren’t. But that’s a privilege Peter and not a character flaw. It’s enough that you know and don’t take it for granted.”

Peter frowned.

“So, I’m just supposed to go… and what, watch the news and feel lucky it’s not happening to me?”

Peter thought he saw something shadowed pass over Tony’s expression at the question. His tutor nodded in reply and said with a sobering amount of gravity.

“Yes. I don’t know what it is about you and your father that you think you have to throw yourself in front of the guns because you’ve been given a few blessings here or there, but you’re fourteen. You’ve your whole life ahead to worry and sacrifice.”

“I’ll be fifteen next month,” Peter reminded him. “And I’m already older than dad when-”

“When circumstances forced him to make a choice between donning a uniform and his family’s starvation.” Tony interjected with a grimace. “He’s aware, and he’s worked very hard so that you’ll be lucky enough never to have to even get near such a choice. It’s okay to be lucky, Peter. There’s nothing cowardly in the good fortune of a parent who spares you unnecessary pain.”

“Are you saying that because it’s true or because you want me safe and out of the way?” he asked, searching Tony’s face for his real thoughts. It wasn’t that Tony made a habit of lying to them. On the contrary, Tony was too honest with them, and one of the only adults who Peter trusted to be honest when things were bad- but even so, like most adults he liked to make things sound better and more hopeful than they actually were.

“Both.” Tony admitted with a pained smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I need it to be true as much as you do. My parents sent me away too when a war broke out.”

The car slowed as Hogan pulled up to the curb outside the ticketing booth. It was not very crowded this time in the morning in the middle of the week, so it was easy to spot Henry Osborn and Robert Drake in their HJ uniforms, their bicycles parked nearby where they leaned against the wall just beside the door of the booth. At first, surprised delight shot through Peter at the fact that his friends were there when he’d not expected to have a chance to say a proper goodbye. But then it was followed by the horror of actually having to do it.

Could he really say goodbye to two of his oldest friends, knowing he was leaving them to face whatever was ahead alone? Bobby and Johann were going to the officer school. Harry’s mother was still refusing to allow him to go but who knew how long she’d hold out to the pressure from Harry and the rest?

Bobby was the first one to spot the Rogers car and he nudged Harry. The two boys stood up straighter and waved at him. Peter gulped, his hand shaking as he reached for the door handle. He paused without turning it, breathing shallowly.

“Tony? When you went to the abbey… were you scared?” he finally asked in a small low voice, looking back toward his tutor. Tony got that look on his face like he wanted to pull him into a hug but Peter was glad he didn’t with Bobby and Harry watching.

“I was terrified,” Tony answered easily, simply, as if that was okay. Peter’s shoulders let go some of their tension.

Right.

He nodded once more, taking a deep breath before he pushed open the car door.

 

~*~*~*~*0*~*~*~*~

 

_**Stefen** ,_

_I asked you not to force me to see Peter off without you, with only fear of the unknown at his front and fear for his father at his back. You promised to be there, and yet as you were on your way to Germany I found myself alone with Peter trying to convince him of the rightness of leaving his home and his siblings behind him for his own sake. I feared he would not go, and seeing in that moment how much at war he was, I knew he would not and I cursed you. I cursed you for teaching him it is his responsibility to take care of his siblings, when that responsibility is yours. I cursed you for teaching him that it is his responsibility to stand up and fight even when the enemy is so much bigger than he is, and I cursed you for somehow, even after mucking it all up, managing to raise such a brave and kindhearted boy. Harry and Robert came to see him off. Harry was very sore and tried to convince him to stay. I believe it was whatever tender goodbyes he shared with Robert that finally tipped the scales. I have never breathed such a sigh of relief nor felt such grief as I felt watching your son board a train._

_You can breathe easy now that Peter is safe and away, but what of the others? It is all very well and good for you to see to your duty to the good of strangers, but you must not delude yourself into thinking that it is any comfort to either your children or the friend’s you have left behind. While The Lion of Austria is off playing hero, you have left Pepper and I to mend the holes you have left in your wake. Perhaps you are comfortable with that, but I won’t let you be ignorant of the fact that we could make every effort in the world and it would all be futile. Neither she nor I can mend what you have broken, any more than a touch of glue and a needle to the spine of a book can make Ian forget that a fragile possession is all he has of his father. You need to ask yourself Stefen Rogers, who it is you are. The Lion Of Austria can only belong to Austria, and I have no trouble admitting how much I despise that man for his lies and his insufferable righteousness, but Stefen Rogers is another story entirely. Stefen Rogers belongs to himself and the family he has created. When these men are at odds, how do you choose who it is you have to be? Who are you, under it all? There are times even I don’t know. But I tell you this, a man is only a man, and can’t live forever under the shadow of an ideal. Nor can his children or anyone else who loves him._

_-Tony_

~*~

_Garmisch Germany._

 

“Ah hell,” Second Lieutenant Frank Becker cursed inwardly. They were four miles into their hike and the good Major had sped up the pace. Again. At this rate they were making double time look like a leisurely stroll.

Frank had known the minute he'd seen his command that this would not be an easy tour and only half of it had been because they were teetering on the brink of war. The other half was the man currently sprinting to catch up with the first line. There was no prize for the fastest time a unit made it through the forests grounds they used for field training, so why Major Rogers felt the need to run them as if the Czech army was hot on their tails was beyond him.

It could be worse he consoled himself. They could have taken the whole damn platoon.

Major Rogers flew by, barking how appalled he was at the men's formation. Becker huffed loudly, pulling his pack closer to his body and looking over his shoulder at the red-faced line of boys shuffling along behind him.

A minute or so later his Major jogged up next to him, looking energized and fresh for all the world as if he’d only been having a brisk walk as his eyes continued peeling over their soldiers. Frank snorted, it was fucking unfair was what that was.

“Sir?”

Major Rogers glanced at him before falling back a little yelling for the tail end to be held up.

Becker watched, perplexed. He was used to the way Rogers hounded and demanded the best at all times from the men, but whatever hell fire had been lit under Major Rogers ass had to be burning strong because the fever fervor the man had subjugated them too this last week was inconvenient to say the least.

They were meant to be preparing for General Schmidt and Colonel Marquering to come through for inspection, but Rogers had insisted they spend the morning huffing it around the training ground under the guise of strengthening the men's lungs.

To be fair, Becker had no desire to be in the vicinity when General Schmidt came onto the barracks either. But it was their sergeants' jobs to take the platoons out for hikes and training excursions. The non-commissioned officer's jobs to get down in the grime and muck.

Becker swiped sweat from his forehead, wishing he could reach the droplets that crawled down his spine.

“What is it lieutenant?”

Rogers was next to him again and Becker jumped. How was it possible someone so big could sneak up so silently?

There was no denying Rogers had a certain...presence. His command while uncommon for someone so, well, common, was the best Frank had ever been under but he was not the typical sort of commander by any stretch of the imagination. Rogers slept in the sparse company barracks with the non-commissioned officers and left piles of paperwork to be done (God knows when he found time to do it) on his desk. And because he was always with the men, it meant Becker was always with them as well.

One shouldn’t be out done after all but it wasn't the order of things. Officers were meant to be separate for a reason. Outside of uniform was one thing but despite Major Rogers thoughts on the matter, the soldiers respected them because they were worlds apart. Like gods really, all knowing and ever present. They weren't meant to be shacking up with the troops over cards for God’s sake.

“Sir, I maintain that we should be ready and waiting for -”

“We’re ready. You read Ssgt. Zimmerman’s reports. We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be. They’re not estimated to be arriving until late evening. Yah wanna just sit around and pick your ass’s until then?”

Becker barked out a laugh and quickly tried to stifle it. Seeing him all polished up on the television, he’d almost forgotten how crass Rogers could be. When you actually met the man it was painfully clear he’d come from non-commissioned ranks.

“Sir, I cannot help but wonder-”

“There’ll be plenty of time to wait later, Lieutenant. I promise.”

Becker felt his smile slide off his face. Yes, there would be time later, now that he’d finally given Rogers an answer to his question. One hell of a big question.

Becker was not a fool. His ideas were unwelcome in the best of situations in the new Reichland. If they went searching-

No, when they went searching they would find his name on a Marxist list somewhere. Perhaps even that workers union meeting he'd attended in 35'. Point was, he’d seen what they did to people whose opinions didn’t match their own. It wouldn’t be long before they were storming his own house and frightening his new bride. Sometimes, measures just had to be taken.

A private who was dog faced and huffing forward with a determined look on his face, passed him and Becker jerked out of his thoughts, lengthening his stride.

They carried on for a while longer before Becker tried one last time. Worry eating at him. Schmidt was not one to play games with and for some reason the General had taken a special interest in their battalion.

“Sir, and if we should receive orders to march and the troops are too exhausted?”

A somewhat humorless smirk crossed Rogers face.

“Then they learn sleep is for the dead, Lieutenant. Simple as that.” Eyeing Becker up and down, her added, “You're not tired, are you? They could always use a demonstration of a rescue carry.”

Bastard.

Becker snorted but his retort was drowned out by the roar of an approaching motorbike engine. He slowed, watching Corporal Nagal navigate the bike past the soldiers.

Major Rogers called for a halt, not taking his eyes off the Corporal, his body still and ready. Becker looked between them. What was this?

The Corporal slowed and saluted, then called out over the noise, “Major. General Schmidt requests your presence, Sir."

Damn, Becker grit his teeth together. So much for being ready for the General’s arrival.

~*~

 

Schmidt was playing a new game with new rules it seemed.

There were only three things on Steve's mind (circled around as if it was tied to a merry-go-round) and in no particular order.

Prepare for war. Keep his family safe. Complete the mission.

The motorbike zigged along, bumping over the terrain and jostling Steve back and forth. He didn't mind. His body ached in a distant sort of way. The bumping of the side car rattled his bones, and though he’d always prefer to be driving, it was still easy to let the discomfort and tension ease out of him as they sped along. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the air rush over his face and sting his eyelids. When he opened them again he felt that much sharper.

“Corporal. Stop by the barracks. I need a change of uniform,” He commanded, leaning forward to ease the pressure on his legs. Riding in side car was like trying to cram himself in a suitcase.

“Sir, I have express orders to take you straight to the general, Sir.” The corporal answered nervously.

It shouldn’t have caught Steve by surprise but it did a little. Schmidt was nothing if not an excellent chess player.

As they rounded the corner Steve caught sight of the issued Mercedes Benz, gleaming black and imposing outside the officer’s office. He hissed out a breath. He’d never backed down to Schmidt before and he wasn’t going to start.

~*~

The senior SS officer turned as Steve entered. Someone had set out refreshments for their illustrious guest: stout, Tilsit cheese, black bread and the good coffee. Or so he was told, Steve never touched it, preferring to partake in whatever the NCO’s drank. Schmidt had a glass of stout next to him on the desk half full of the amber liquid, though to Steve’s eyes it was clear Schmidt hadn't touched it.

Steve stood at attention just inside the door and gave a short general salute. Schmidt’s exactly lips turned up in a parody of a smile, like a dog’s did right before it bit.

“General Schmidt. We weren't expecting you so soon.” Steve said stiffly. “I hope your-”

“My dear Captain,” Schmidt interrupted with a tut as if he were speaking to a child and Steve bristled at the insult to his rank. Carefully keeping his face neutral as he corrected him.

“It’s Major now.”

The office was only so big but even from his place by the door Steve felt he couldn't be far enough away from the man. Schmidt lifted a shoulder in a mock shrug, the smile still a rictus on his face.

“Oh no, no, no. I didn't travel all this way for small talk.”

Schmidt’s smile curled into a devil's grin as he made his way around the desk and slowly began to fill his plate with the delicacies that had been laid out. Steve waited, coiled tight and prepared for anything. Schmidt took his time, the delicate china tinkling like bells and light bouncing off the silverware. All the while Steve waited at attention.

Finally, Schmidt looked up, the same deplorable smile twisting his face.

“I can be a gracious man, fair, as I see it.” he rested one hip against the desk and picked up the glass of stout, sipping it gently.

From this angle his rank insignia and skull pin gleamed brilliantly. Every last inch of his uniform was pressed and in its place. Sharp silver and black.

In contrast Steve was crusted in sweat and grime. A clump of dirt dropped from his boot to the polished wood floor. Schmidt was a shrewd man. He’d meant for them to be off balance like this, for Steve to be on his back foot. Steve held his stare and straightened his spine.

Schmidt lifted the glass, eyes sharp and calculating.

“Come now let's not play these games.”

“And what games would those be?”

“Do not test my patience.” Schmidt snapped abruptly, his eyes flinty hard. He sat the glass done with a clink. “You may have heard. General striker has been moved from his impressive work with the HJ to a much more president position. We need men with General Strikers sort of passion.”

Steve hadn't known. There’d been very little talk. It must have been a hasty move indeed. He couldn't help but wonder what happened to the man who had held the position before.

“Forgive me, General Schmidt, but I thought we were going to skip the small talk.” Steve replied, surprised at the neutral quality his tone kept.

Schmidt carried on as if Steve hadn’t spoken.

“He’ll do well for the Sicherheltsdienst. They’re expanding you see. Anyway,” he fluttered a hand at Steve as if he were discussing the weather, “before he left he expressed concern over your son. Why he wasn’t taking his rightful place at the officer school.”

Steve had anticipated this sort of response just not so quickly. He forced himself to unclench his jaw.

“I believe James and Artur are far too young for officers' school.” Steve deadpanned.

“Do not play games.” Schmidt said slowly. Enunciating every syllable as if it were a knife slicing flesh.

“Then perhaps you should be clearer.” Steve snapped his nerves razor sharp.

Schmidt barked out a laugh.

“You were always the one to bite the hand that fed you. Like a little rat.” The general crossed his legs, one booted heel over the other with a sharp clink.

“Surly you didn't come five hours early to discuss my son, Herr General? I'd hate to disappoint you.” Steve bandied back.

The General’s toothy smile was back again, only now it was far more a snarl than anything else.

“Captain-’

“Major.” Steve cut in angrily. “That is my rank, kindly use it. I don’t see how It’s any of the Reichjugendfuhrer’s business what I decide is best for my son. Or any of my children.”

Schmidt’s eyes flashed but he remained motionless, breathing heavily through his nostrils.

All Steve wanted to do was tell Schmidt to stay the fuck away from his children if he knew what was good for him. But Schmidt still held most of the cards, as he like to remind Steve at every opportunity.

Against gritted teeth he added, trying to smooth his voice, “Peter still has trouble with his heart. It’s easily overlooked when he’s so energetic but it’s a fact that I cannot forget easily, seeing as I’m his father and all. The school in Geneva is better suited to Peter. It'll help him become everything he needs to be to better himself, better his people. It’s a better match than officers school. I weighed the options carefully General. Don't think I didn't. Or that I'll be swayed.”

Steve had seen livelier eyes on corpses. The blue of Schmidt’s eyes was like ice, void and frozen. When he did move there was not an ounce of gentlemanly pretense to his posture.

“My sister has two children.” The General informed him almost wistfully and Steve blinked, surprised by the sharp turn in the conversation. It had the effect of being doused with water, leaving you shaking and unsteady.

“A boy and a girl. Twins. My nephew, has a mouse and his sister has the family cat. He likes to play a game with the mouse- little Hans he calls it. He’ll set the family cat out and let little Hans try to out run him.”

Schmidt reached for his plate again and took a bite. Again came the soft wet sounds of mastication, teeth ripping thin layers of bread, pummeling them, then the obscene sound of Schmidt swallowing almost thunderous in the silence.

“You should see it,” the General chuckled. “Little Hans squeaking, trying to find any way to outwit the cat, the cat playing with him until he leaps for the finale pounce.”

Schmidt took another bite, swallowed, grinned and continued, his face taking on terrible stillness.

“At the last moment my nephew snatches little Hans up to safety.” Schmidt picked another piece of cheese off the platter turning it over, inspecting it as he murmured almost distractedly. “A little worse for wear but safe from certain death. But to think, little Hans tries so hard. Every time. It’s funny how the minds of rodents' work. Such hope, little Hans has of escaping the claws of fate even as they rake down his back.”

Steve’s body had grown cold.

“Is that a threat,” he asked, iron already solidifying in his gut. If Schmidt even so much as twitched in the direction of his family-

Schmidt looked up, locking eyes with him.

Dead. Dead eyes.

“I don't make threats I can't keep, Captain. I am a man of my word.”

Schmidt sat his plate down and brushed his hands on the waiting napkin.

“Think of it as a little advice. False hope kills quicker than anything else Captain. Though it is fascinating to watch it's killing strike, don't you think?” The General straightened to his full height, the lively gracefulness returning to his movements. He clapped his hands together cheerfully and it was only years of training that kept Steve from lashing out in surprise, he was wound so tight.

“Now. Shall I tell you why I'm really here and why I've called a meeting with you? Yes, I think I shall. I'm here because I simply had to be the one to deliver the news. You and your family are to go on a tour.”

Steve’s mouth dropped a little in surprise and he lurched forward a little, blindsided by the news.

“Excuse me?” he managed to sound more stilted than shocked. “What do you mean?”

Schmidt’s grin grew wider. All his teeth showing.

“Ah, yes, I thought that might surprise you. Yes, you’re to leave in forty-six hours precisely and report to Brigade Leader Kessmeyer -”

“My place is with my men.” Steve broke in, his anger just beginning to gain traction from his shock.

He took a step forward but froze when Schmidt snapped, “Your place is where I tell you it is. Captain.” The General’s voice seemed to echo in the quiet little office.

Steve drew a measured breath and tried to unclench his jaw, frustration, fear, and anger warring within him.

There might be an infinite number of reasons Schmidt could wish to move him. The two most important were, one: either Schmidt had caught some whiff of their plans and was looking to deter them because he had no real proof. Or two: it was just another power play, fielded by Schmidt's disgust of him to remind him who had the control here.

Or, Steve highly suspected, it could be a healthy mix of both. Either way something would have to be done. Steve couldn’t lead the coup if the Germans had him on another propaganda tour.

“For how long?” he asked, doing his best to sound resigned.

Schmidt clucked disapprovingly.

“How long? You're not happy you're serving the Reichland? When so many would love to hold the privileges that you do.”

Steve forced his jaw to unclench.

“My only wish is to continue the command I've been appointed. My battalion needs me. I won’t leave an entire battalion on Major Dvořák’s shoulder.

“He’ll be fine. Come now. It's not every day one is placed so close to fame and glory. Enjoy it. While you can.” Schmidt said as he crossed the room to stand in front of Steve. They were nearly the same height. Steve had the strangest impression that in that moment, no matter reality, Schmidt was taller.

He was imagining things he berated himself. It was the fear talking. Schmidt couldn't know fully what Steve had planned. Perhaps he thought Steve meant to defect and this would keep the eagle eye on him.

“You'll receive your official orders when Colonel Marquering arrives. A company leader will collect you later, I know how busy you are. Until then, you're dismissed.” Schmidt snapped his arm in the air in a salute. “Heil Hitler!”

Steve held his gaze silent and still, then turned and stepped out through the door without a backward glance.

~*~*~

Major Heinrich Dvořák desk was littered with letters. Each one more vital than the last. It was all creating a tremendous pressure behind his eyes. Shit he was tired.

He snatched up one of three reports he still had to go over. Major Rogers’ careful type glared back at him. The black inked letters mocking him as his vision swam. Dvořák blinked and threw the report back down, rubbing his eyes harshly.

Fuck Rogers. He was always so fucking detailed. Every report he’d ever handed Dvořák had seemed to weigh at least three kilos. Did nothing happen on the base without the man’s notice? He wouldn’t be surprised if Rogers included the weight of each of his men’s shits.

There was a knock at the door and a moment later it opened, the platoons only decent lieutenant stepping inside. Second Lieutenant Becker saluted limply, barley in the door and already trailing dirt behind him. Rogers had been working the men on the training field again, poor bastard.

"Do you know what we used to call him?" Major Dvořák asked his comrade, tilting his head as he eyed Rogers training report. His lips twisted in a sneer. He spared their 2nd Lieutenant a glance as the man limped into the office, caring a change of uniform on one arm. He'd told him to take better care of his feet but you couldn’t tell junior officers anything these days.

"In officers' training, did I ever tell you what we called him?" Dvořák repeated.

Lt. Becker shot him a look as he plopped down to remove his boots, wincing as he undid the laces. Underneath his trousers the skin was red and puffy, rubbed raw by friction.

"A pain in the ass, sir?" Lt. Becker suggested good naturally. Dvořák laughed. That was right. Becker enjoyed the good Captain. Thought of him fondly like, some irritating sibling.

That’s what Rogers had looked like too, back when they’d first met, like someone’s misplaced child brother. Barley twenty, if that, and already a Staff Sergeant fresh from the mountain groups shock men. Standing next to his peers who would all out rank him in about ten weeks, Rogers had not understood the way of things.

Dvořák had heard that the assault men in the Gebirgsjäger treated rank differently. So far in the mountains away from any sort of high command, their leaders often had to make their own decisions independent of higher superiors. Back then, Rogers had been used to doing simply whatever he thought was right and had only limited respect for rank structure.

If anyone had expected formal officer training to change anything the joke was on them.

Fifteen years later and Rogers would be sitting across from Dvořák suggesting they murder their Supreme Leader; and through his shock all Dvořák could think was, of course it would be you.

And of course Rogers would still be right about it. Damn him.

"He was as skinny as a pole, nothing like now. He had this terrible accent. We all called him our Goulash Rat."

Lt. Becker frowned down at his boots.

"Major Rogers doesn’t have an accent, sir."

Dvořák didn’t miss the way Lt. Becker stressed Rogers rank, a subtle reminder that Rogers was still Lt. Becker’s superior, and a Major by his own right. Dvořák ignored him, he wasn’t saying anything their own Commanding Officer didn’t say and certainly none of it was new to Rogers. Dvořák didn’t care what fancy new rank they’d shoved on him.

"Not anymore he doesn’t. He could barely write two words together on paper, had to ask for help to transcribe almost all of the work. It was embarrassing to watch.” Dvořák laughed.

“Then as we’re about to graduate, he goes and gets himself engaged to the Von Trap girl, and all of a sudden the rumor circulating is that he’s a polish born Austrian.” Dvořák sucked in his breath, flicking his tongue against his teeth. “It helps to remember that, when you're hoofing across a mountain with him. He was born for hard labor, likes it, that’s just the way his kind are, he can't help it."

And Dvořák felt sorry for him, he really did. He couldn’t imagine living his life like a baser animal, with only sub desires to guide you through a world meant for intellectuals like him.

"I had heard he graduated with honors. Was that part true, sir?" Becker asked.

Dvořák frowned.

"Sometimes men are favored when they shouldn't be,” he snapped back.

"And sometimes intelligent men don’t get the education they deserve." Lt. Becker replied shortly.

“What was that?!” Dvořák barked with a satisfied smirked as Becker jumped to alertness.

“Sir.” The lieutenant amended.

Dvořák leaned back in his chair again and raised an eyebrow. The talk back was unusual. Becker usually kept his ideas to himself, aware of their unpopularity within the Reich. This was not the time to be getting sloppy.

“I’d say the men likely to receive an education are the ones most deserving. At least in a just system.” He sat forwards and scooped up Rogers report. “At least once we’re done clearing out the dead weight.”

He opened the file and began to read. Still, he thought, some trash still slipped through the cracks.

~*~

 

  
Three hours later Major Rogers stomped through the door. He went straight away to his desk, barley stopping to acknowledge Dvořák all together. Christ. Rogers was in a foul mood. Dvořák was tempted to call attention to his rude behavior. Perhaps he thought that meant he no longer had to pay the proper respect, they may both be the same rank now but Dvořák still had seniority.

He dropped his hands onto the desk eyes fixated on Dvořák.

“Yes?”

“Did you know?” Rogers bit out.

Dvořák sighed.

“Know what?”

Why couldn’t Rogers be in one of his silent moods.

“They’re pulling me. Putting me on public relations duty.”

What? He shot up in his chair, instantly regretting the sharp movement. What the hell?

Rogers sighed and looked down, his brow furrowed deeply in thought muttering a quiet, “Damn.”

“Yes, Damn! We’re meant to fade in two more platoons by the end of…” Dvořák sputtered, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.

They were supposed to have 52,000 men ready for a campaign in Czechoslovakia and, though it hadn’t been specifically ordered yet, Poland. 13,000 of those men were under his and Rogers command.

Dvořák couldn’t possibly be expected to manage it all on his own… and if the coup failed? Well, if the coup failed leading more men than he’d agreed to was hardly going to be the number one thing on his list of hardships.

He rubbed his face, pulling on the small hairs by hiss temple. The pain throbbed on.

“Is that all Schmidt wanted?” It seemed highly unlikely but after a moment Rogers straightened and nodded. “I swear to you Rogers if he-”

“Yeah, you’ll leave me to my fate. Believe me, I didn’t forget.”

“My family is at stake!” Dvořák thundered and the cool air of calm around Rogers broke, as the man slammed a hand down hard on Dvořák’s desk.

“You’re not the only one who has people they care about!”

“No, but they are the only people I care about!” Dvořák said with all the certainty in his body. Rogers knew, Dvořák had made no secret of it. He was here because if he wasn’t, he couldn’t guarantee their safety. If it came down to a choice between his girls and Rogers’ or the rest of their squad or the whole damn world. Dvořák knew what side he was on.

“Is that all he wanted?” Dvořák asked again, watching the way tiny flecks of emotion slivered across Rogers face.

He was hiding something. Dvořák wasn’t sure if it was important enough for him to care. If it was personal then that was what it was, it had nothing to do with him.

“That was why he came early, yes.”

Good. Jesus Christ if they’d been found out…

Dvořák eye’d Rogers but the man acted as if they were finished talking. No information on how long he’d be gone or what he planned to do about their orders from Oster, just a grunt and back to work as usual.

With the room returning back to some normality Dvořák sat down, intending to tackle his reports.

He jumped when Rogers thumped a stack of carbon paper onto his desk and glared at the disruption. The last time they had served together Rogers had made a point of writing personal letters as little as possible, though now he seemed to write a letter a day as evidence by the load he was shoving under his arm. The last time they had served together Rogers had made a point of writing personal letters as little as possible, though now he seemed to write a letter a day as evidence by the load he was shoving under his arm.

Dvořák’s lip curled as a swell of dislike shot through him. The goulash rat’s literacy was still positively insulting as far as he was concerned. Golden example of Aryan supremacy indeed. Oh, he could lead a platoon or two, could charge his pretty ass into battle with the boldness of a lion. And perhaps that was the most duplicitous thing about Rogers. Because Dvořák was certain he was a lesser breed entirely.

Rogers tucked the letters into a satchel and swept it under the desk with his heel before shoving aside the chair to sit in, and beginning to scribble, his brow furrowed, the graphite making large dark strokes on the paper. Dvořák surveyed him over the tip of his own document.

Perhaps he had Jewish heritage. Wouldn't that be something? Jews were just sliding in everywhere weren’t they? It was rumored that even Himmler’s heritage was being examined. Rogers certainly displayed Semitic tendencies.

Over at his desk Rogers savagely ripped the paper away balled it up and then tossed it aside, before starting again with a fresh sheet and an intense focus.

Dvořák snorted, but he was curious despite himself. Who could Rogers be writing to that would take the time to read a penned letter from him? No one had time to decipher cave drawings.

What a waste it all was. Rogers had gorgeous women all but biting each other to get at him, seven children, fame and glory on and off the battle field. He could have been a General by now if he'd not taken time off, slowed down his career to have a family. As much as it pained Dvořák to admit it now, but Rogers could have been in Hitler's right pocket.

All Dvořák’s own years of hard work had amounted to shit, when in the blink of an eye they’d just handed Rogers the title with barely any effort attached. But of course Dvořák wasn’t Austria's favored son, or Himmler's little pet, so of course he had to work for his gains.

One could wonder given his low opinion of the man, why he agreed to work with him at all and why Rogers had trusted him enough to include him in his plans.

It was true, he and Rogers shared little in common, however they both had an eye for people. Rogers had known, god damn it, because he was the sort who listened and looked. He knew Dvořák's views on they way things were being handled. And Rogers had met his wife. He'd met Helena on several though brief occasions and had still managed to take away the truth of her parentage, or rather lack of one.

Her dark coils and deep brown eyes could have been from her French mother's side, her step father obviously having no hand in her looks. Dvořák had never needed to wonder at some first father the family neither knew or spoke of. They were good Catholics and loyal Germans, but these days the uncertainty was as much damning as any evidence. All over the country people were discovering grandparents and spouses who had converted from Judaism, whom under the Führer’s new laws still counted as Jews.

Who knew what was lurking in her past, and despite the fact that she was innocent of all wrong doing, if things were allowed to continue on, his Helena might be deported. He had no love for the Jews, they had a way of dirtying up any place they resided in for long, but Helena, she was the world.

She and his little René.

Rogers had shown up at his doorstep feigning camaraderie out of uniform neither of them had ever felt for the other, and armed with that damnable earnest voice of reason. If they did not act, things would get worse. People would suffer.

What was he to do? Logic was the answer. He was German after all and an officer at that, logic was the only way to operate. If he followed the logic of the Führer it would surely mean the end of his family. Hitler wasn’t good for Germany, therefore he must be stopped.

Rogers had calmly told him of the border conditions, the starvation and humiliation those who had immigrated suffered.

He’d been startled to hear that Oster was spearheading the coup. Their mission however perilous was not without fire power. He had the General and Major Groscurth to thank for his shared position with Rogers. They’d had a hand in putting together their command so that now they were all in one place nearly ready to strike when the timing was right.

So here they were, together, Dvořák following him into the breach. And not just Dvořák either, there were others of course, all throughout the Wehrmacht and the Abwehr, civilians and enlisted men alike. There would have to be, one didn't assassinate an emperor without help.

Dvořák turned as the door creaked open again and one of their new Staff Sergeants entered, clutching two trays. His stomach instantly rumbled at the smell of nickel bread and fish. Ah, it was far past time for a meal.

Ssgt. Zimmerman was a compact little man with a boy’s face that did not match its serious expression. His round glasses glinted, giving him the appearance of having solar caps for eyes.

“Gentleman,” he saluted smartly.

Rogers continued to write.

Who the hell was he scribbling to like his house was on fire?”

Dvořák sighed and stood, saluting Ssgt. Zimmerman as he did so and holding out his hand for one of the trays.

“Rogers, food.” he called, quickly taking apart the meal. He knew the goulash rat ate, but it was a bit like catching sight of a shooting star.

Rogers looked up and blinked at Ssgt. Zimmerman owlishly, as if just realizing he was there.

“Staff Sergeant?”

Ssgt. Zimmerman nudged the tray forward. “Food, sir. And there is someone here to see you.”

Rogers was already back to writing, grunting out, “Who?"

"Company Leader Hoffman, sir." Zimmerman faltered over the sentence as Rogers stilled, anger written in every line of his stiff back. “About a new propaganda tour, sir?”

Rogers took a breath and the let it out, his anger changing into something sharper, under his control. “I'll be with them in a moment."

He rubbed his face in frustration and then looked up a slightly harrowed look in his eyes. "I need to speak with you later, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, Sir.” SSgt. Zimmerman nodded curtly, watching the tray of food like a hawk. They stood in silence.

“Rogers, I’d take a bite before our Staff Sergeant takes personal offense.” Dvořák chuckled, taking a bite of his own bread and jam.

“Have you eaten yet?” Rogers asked the man instead. Typical.

Zimmerman's eyebrows twitched in what Dvořák could only assume was bafflement, it was so hard to tell with him.

“No, sir.”

Without looking up Rogers pushed the tray toward the Staff Sergeant.

It would be unprofessional to roll his eyes but it was a near thing. Always so self-righteous in his martyrdom.

“Go on.” Dvořák nodded at the tray. “There is no point in arguing with him.”

~*~*~

 

_**To Herr General Oster,** _

_Abwehr central intelligence_

_1938_

_I regret to inform the general that I was visited by the SS officer General Schmidt. While it is always a privilege to be in the presence of such greatness, our conversation was very disturbing. The General seemed displeased with me in some way because I could only take away from or discussion threats to myself and my family. My family is everything to me. I worry that whatever has upset the General will lead to undue consequences, that could possibly be smoothed over and ask you to step in on my behalf. I am greatly in your debt. Also I have been informed that shortly I am to be taken on tour to drum up public support for the mobilization effort. My only regret there is that I will have to leave the men in the middle of their training. As an officer I feel my place and best use is here with them. Awaiting your advice._

_-Major Stefen G. Rogers, Wehrmacht, GerbirgsJäger 1st division._

 

_**Dear Tony** ,_

_This letter may come as a surprise, given my silence after your last, but it was your advice to write whenever I wasn’t feeling well. I hope that offer is still open._

_After your last letter I was angry. My men don’t thank you, as drills have been my only outlet for that anger since you are not here. But I was angrier with myself and the truth in your words than I was with you, and I knew that._

_Over here, it all seems clearer than it has ever been. For so long I ran away from it, but now I’d give everything to know that in the morning I was going home. I want to see my children. I want to sit down to dinner with you and share in your company. Not to be surrounded by dozens of men whose lives I am responsible for, but can’t get close to._

_I work the men hard. Maybe too hard, when my efforts only go toward making better soldiers for the Reich. I don’t like that thought much, but I can’t escape how young many of them are. Some of them are fresh from school. I look at them and I think about their mothers and their fathers. I think about what a pity it all is. I think about them dying somewhere far away from everyone they love. I demand perfection from my battalion because if they are perfect here, they’ll be perfect out there, and maybe one day they’ll go home. Maybe they’ll get a chance to be better men. Maybe we all will._

_Looking at them makes me realize what an old man I’ve become. You’re going to tease me about that. I look forward to that more than I ever thought I would. You told me a lot about the children in your last letter but almost nothing of how you are. How are you, Tony?_

_Your contentment means a great deal to me. I think on that often. I want you to be happy in my employ for many more years to come. I look forward to our meeting in Berlin and the chance to show you the city. So much so, that sometimes it feels like I’m living for it. I’m impatient for it. You should know that, just in case you feared some lingering anger on my end. I’ve arranged for some gifts to be sent along for the household, to keep you all in comfort. Please give the children my love._

_-Stefen_

 

~*~

_Salzburg, September 15th 1938_

 

Every morning since the army had mobilized and the captain had been called away, the house staff would gather in the kitchen before the children’s breakfast to break bread and listen to the morning news report. Pepper and Harold had their little cabin on the grounds but with the Captain gone, Pepper had taken up permanent residence at the house. The morning meal was a chance for them to reacquaint and share a few precious moments together now that Harold was forced to spend his days playing groundskeeper since Sam and all the day workers Sefen had once employed were gone.

The kitchen maid Hortense was always the first up, in order to prepare the kitchen for Willamina’s arrival. After the nights where she went home to her grandfather she and Cameron often walked in from the village of Hof-Bei together, getting up at four each morning to make the hour trip. By the time Willamina got dropped off by her husband the old stove would be heated up, pans pulled from the icebox and the flour and the potatoes already begun their peeling.

The laundry maids usually didn’t get up till later in the morning but Hammer and Julia came along around six thirty or so to start the day bright and early.

_“Prime Minister of Britain, Nevil Chamberlin, touched ground today to meet with His Supreme Excellency. Germany has made herself strong once more, despite the unlawful rules and edicts forced upon her after the great war. The British no doubt wish to flex their muscle and strike fear into our hearts, but the Führer is resolute and will not be pressured by foreign powers to abandon the three million Sudeten Germans who wait anxiously for their return to the Reich.”_

Willamina scoffed as the radio host paused for breath, and then launched into a report on the mobilization effort of the army and the reputably countless demonstrations of support popping up all over the country as they prepared themselves for the inevitable pushback of Hitler’s plans to invade the borderlands.

The normally cheerful cook’s face had taken on a thinness over the weeks and Tony had grown used to the way the maids skittered about like frightened mice, whispering in corners. In truth, it seemed that a fearful tension had settled over the entire country as it held its breath.

“It’s foolishness I tell you.” Willamina grumbled.

“You disapprove?” Hammer asked with a scandalized air from his seat at the table, looking up from his bite of cheese.

“You think the Führer should just allow us to be bullied?”

“What I think is, I saw one war and I’m not keen on seeing another.” Willamina shot back, rising from her seat on a tired sigh and ambling towards the coffee on the counter near the stove.

Cameron, who was sitting opposite of young Hortense cleared his throat nervously.

“My father says we can’t win a war against the Czechs if France and Britain back them. The Führer would be mad to try it.”

“I would hardly expect an ignorant Pole like your father to be an expert on the subject,” Hammer sneered in reply with a disdainful sniff and Cameron grit his teeth but ducked his dark head and stuffed his mouth full of bread rather than risk saying something he’d regret. Smart boy, Tony thought.

“What do we need to bother with a bunch of Czech’s for anyway? They’re fine where they are.” Williminia sighed from over by the stove and thankfully Hammer’s attention moved away from his lowly charge and back to the cook.

“But that’s just the point Willamina, they’re not Czechs, they are ethnically German same as you and I! Could you imagine languishing in some Czechoslovakian slum?” Hammer implored the woman’s back as she banged about making herself a cup.

“Could you imagine not being a sanctimonious prick?” Tony grumbled without the energy for heat and Pepper glared at him in warning as Julia broke out in a suspicious cough. But Hammer seemed content this morning pretending to ignore him.

“I’ve heard they’re being terribly mistreated.” The toady butler went on with vigor around a mouthful of cheese, making the words sound muffled and wet. Tony made a face, disgusted.

“They’ve written letters calling out for aide.”

“My brother says, that over there the Slavs force the men into hard labor and the women into prostitution if you’re German.” Julia shared on a whisper, and Hortense paled as if she feared there were a band of hulking Slavs right outside the kitchen window.

“Nonsense,” Pepper scoffed, though Tony thought she didn’t look entirely certain. “I’m sure he was just trying to scare you.”

“Scare her? She’s not some poor woman with a Slavic brute breathing down her neck, what’s she got to be scared of?” Hammer laughed, wiping the residue of his breakfast away in a ridiculously fastidious way considering his earlier chewing like cattle.

“It’s shameful how many people seem content to just leave the poor wretches to their lot. We’re damned lucky there is finally someone in power with the backbone to stick up for decent hard working Germans. It’s a new world out there, let France and Britain blow their horns all they want. The Führer’s armies will make them regret it. You’ll see” the man crowed. Tony wanted to smack him.

“Are you so eager for a return to war that you’ve forgotten what the last one was like?” He snapped, drawing the wary eyes of the women. “Or that the Captain is one of those men whose lives you’re so willing to throw at all your imagined enemies?”

If they made war with the Czechs there would be fighting in the mountains and Stefen’s men would be some of the first called out.

“The Captain Rogers I knew was always proud to serve his country.” Hammer snapped back, a disquieting sort of disgust bubbling along with anger beneath his tone. “I don’t expect a nanny to understand that.”

Tony pushed away from the door he’d been leaning against while they listened to the broadcast, having heard quite enough for one morning. His sudden departure took the others by surprise, Pepper calling his name softly as he made to leave the kitchen with quick strides.

“Tony, where are you going?”

“To plan my lesson for the day. I think the children could use a brush up on the history of Bohemia and Moravia” he tossed irritably over his shoulder as he exited the cramped feeling kitchen.

He could hear Hammer sneering at his back.

“I must have disturbed his delicate sensibilities. Some men just have no stomach.”

Tony whirled around, carried by a sudden surge of impotent rage. He had no idea what he would have done or said, what he could possibly have said, that wouldn’t have ended with them coming to blows or pushed Hammer into some bitter form of retaliation that could involve police. Tony didn’t need proof to know it was him who’d reported on the twins, and he had no idea why Hammer hadn’t attempted to get Tony arrested since – but Pepper’s fierce warning glare wasn’t at all misplaced.

Thankfully, Tony was saved by the sudden sound of a thud overhead followed by James’ all too familiar voice raised in a shout as he screamed abuse at someone.

“Would you listen to that?” Hammer scoffed, eyes on the ceiling. “The Captain never would have stood for that before.”

He didn’t have to say it but everyone knew what he meant. Before Tony, the Rogers children had rarely dared to step a foot out of line or so much as speak above a whisper in their own home for fear of inciting one of the captain’s black moods.

There was a loud crash above and the distinctive tinkling of shattered glass and Tony smiled viciously at the butler, replying smoothly in a studious fashion.

“Haven’t you heard? Liberty is the sound of broken glass.”

Actually, Tony wasn’t sure at all that he would call the unholy shrieking that met him as he approached the boys room anything so sweet to the ear as liberty, but he’d still made his point. He’d take ill behavior from the children any day before he settled for dutiful obedience born of fear and neglect. Though if James Rogers didn’t find a better way to express himself besides playing the part of berserk banshee Tony couldn’t promise Stefen would still have seven children when he came home.

If Stefen ever made it home, that is. The idiot, the great big noble idiot. Did he really think Austria was going to thank him for giving his life in her defense? He should have taken Tony’s advice and run with the children when he’d had the chance but since when did Captain Rogers think he needed Tony’s advice?

Alright yes, Tony recognized that he was being uncharitable, and he was even willing to acknowledge that most of his bitterness truly stemmed from the pit of worry that had taken region in his stomach – but he was reserving the right to be as mad and as bitter as he pleased for as long as he needed to be. Stefen hadn’t answered his letter, and had left him to deal with anxious and downright crabby children who didn’t know how to deal with the stress of their ever changing world.

For James that meant screams.

“I can’t! I can’t, I can’t! Why doesn’t anybody ever believe me?!” The boy was hollering at the top of his lungs at Natacha who was standing in the doorway of the boy’s room, her mouth pursed tightly in disapproval. Tony could see why as he came up behind her and was able to see James sprawled pathetically on the floor, red faced and in nothing but his shirt and underwear.

Artur was sitting on his bed with Mon Amie’s cage, hair still sticking up on one side as he ogled his older brother like he was a fascinating species of fish that had flopped its way out of the lake.

“Oh for heavens sake, James are you honestly refusing to put on pants?” Tony sighed, already knowing the answer and sure enough James’ tear stained face scrunched up and he took a great gIant breath before wailing loud enough to be heard in China.

“I caaaan’t. I need help!”

“James, you’re being stupid! You dress yourself every day.” Natacha was scoffing as Tony stepped past her into the room, carefully stepping over the shards of a shattered vase and tiredly reaching for the pair of shorts James had thrown across the room.

“Maybe he hit his head?” Artur suggested helpfully. “Remember, we learned about head injuries.”

Tony severely doubted that, unless somebody had dropped the poor child on his head as an infant, which he wasn’t about to rule out.

“Here, James let’s get you dressed.” Tony offered gently, despite agreeing with Natacha that this little production of his was beyond ridiculous. It was not a battle he wished to have this morning, so if James needed to pretend like he didn’t know how to put his pants on then Tony was willing to indulge him. But James was having none of it.

“I don’t want you! Why can’t Ian help?” he bemoaned, rolling away from Tony’s hands and moaning like someone deeply aggrieved, gulping deeply through snotty tears.

“Because you can’t stand Ian and he hates you.” Natacha scoffed in reply, and Tony winced as the boy’s face went an even darker red to match his hair and his face crumpled again with tears.

So that’s what this was about.

“Thank you, Natacha, but that was not helpful,” Tony groused and Natacha glared at him.

“It wasn’t meant to be. I’m tired of listening to him scream every morning,” she returned before turning sharply on her heel and all but stomping away. It was quiet then, but for the sounds of the choked sobs coming from the eight-year-old curled into a ball on the floor.

Glancing at Artur Tony caught the boys eye and nodded towards the door, a silent instruction for him to follow after his sister and Artur nodded, carefully putting Mon Amie’s cage back on his dresser before stepping over James and darting out the door.

When the door had clicked shut behind him Tony sighed and sank down onto the floor beside James, sure that it was going to be a minute or two before he was ready to get up. For a time the two just sat in silence, Tony stroking the boy’s damp hair back from his eyes as James’ sobs quieted to wet sniffles. Tony wasn’t sure how much time had passed when James rolled closer to Tony’s side so that his head was resting against the older man’s thigh and finally looked up at him with watery blue eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Tony could see the misery writ there and hear his unspoken question.

“Natacha was wrong. You know that, right bambino? Ian loves you.” Tony murmured tiredly, resuming his stroking of James’ head. “He’s not showing it well now, but you hurt him.”

“It was an accident!” James sniffled mournfully and Tony hummed disapprovingly.

“Really Tony, I didn’t mean to break his stupid book.”

“Just as I’m sure you didn’t mean to break the stupid vase this morning, or topple the stupid chair in the schoolroom yesterday?” Tony replied coolly and James shrank. Seeing that he was in fact listening, Tony gentled his tone.

“The book is not stupid to Ian, and if destruction was not your intent what is it you expected to happen when you threw it?”

James swallowed thickly and lowered his eyes, mulishly silent but Tony didn’t really need an answer. He already knew. All too well.

“Let me let you in on a secret bambino, all the screaming and fussing in the world won’t make them see you any better. They’ll just write you off all the quicker.”

James blue eyes widened slightly in surprise at Tony’s words.

“If you want Ian to pay more attention to you then you had best start by swallowing that pride and apologizing to him like you mean it.” Tony chucked him gently beneath the chin and smiled down at him to signal that the lecture was over and as far as he was concerned, all was forgiven. “But before that, I’d devote some time to figuring out how to put your pants on.”

 

*~*~*

 

It had only been just under an hour by the time Tony made his way downstairs with James to join the others for breakfast, but to him it felt that hours had passed and he was flirting with the idea of canceling the children’s lessons entirely for the day and seeing if his body wouldn’t be more agreeable to a mid-morning nap than it had been to a nights sleep.

But instead of finding breakfast under way he and James found the others crowded in the smaller sitting room, bright bubbling voices carrying out into the hall helping the two confused stragglers locate them when they found breakfast abandoned at the table.

For half a second Tony’s heart sprang up hopefully into his throat, thinking that the captain must have returned; but no, he discounted the errant hope almost as quickly as it had arrived. Hogan would have rung the bell to signal Hammer and Pepper if that were the case.

“What on earth is going on here?” Tony asked, walking into the room to find nearly the entire household gathered around an alarming number of packages of various shapes and sizes.

There was even a good-sized crate plopped into the middle of the room that Hammer and Hogan were attempting to pry open with a crow bar.

“Vati sent us presents!” Artur hollered excitedly in explanation. Tony saw that he was sat atop a gleaming three wheeled bike with a bright bow attached. “And look Tony! Now I don’t have to ride with James!”

James ran into the room, all lingering traces of gloom instantly forgotten in the face of so many presents. Tony gaped at the disarray of discarded wrappings and boxes filling the room as gift after gift was passed around excited hands and caught Pepper’s eye in disbelief.

“Captain Rogers, sent all this? The same man who accuses me of spoiling his children every chance he gets?”

“It’s not just the children either,” Pepper replied with a small smile stepping over Maria who was helping Natacha sort through what looked like a mountain of delicate bright satin sashes. “He’s sent something for all of us.”

“Including you Tony,” Ian spoke up, nodding to an untouched pile near where he sat on the couch, a book on mandolins of all things open in his lap. At that same moment Hammer and Hogan managed to get the mysterious crate open with a great creak, and a cheer went up as the top popped open. It was a moment before the two men could sort through the packing straw and wrestle out the crates contents. The machine’s body was long and tube like with a rounded head, and had at least two spouts that Tony could see. It looked like it could be as tall as Sara standing up, and almost proud of that fact as it glinted a fine polished silver, the name Le Pavoni etched in elegant gold script on a royal blue plaque.

Tony stared at the thing in shock.

“Especially you I think.” He heard Pepper murmur under her breath, just for his ears, and then jumped in surprise when she jabbed him in the chest with a pair of envelopes. “These came with the postman.”

Letters, Tony noted absently, one with Stefen’s return address and the other more curiously bearing the seal of the German Navy.

Tony slapped a hand to his chest in order to keep them from falling as the smiling housekeeper moved away – toward Sara who was crushing a doll with golden curls in a white dress to her chest – but Tony’s eyes stayed locked on the gleaming machine Hammer and Hogan were struggling to carry toward the kitchen, much to Willamina’s loud protests that her kitchen wasn’t a coffee bar.

An espresso machine? Tony gaped after them, well and utterly speechless for once. It must be some sort of mistake. Stefen would not have spent so much money on something so nonsensical as an espresso machine, from Italy, no matter how often Tony complained about the superiority or his longing for proper cappuccino. Maybe he had meant to order Tony some expensive beans and the shop had gotten it wrong? Tony mused as he tore open Stefen’s letter.

They hadn’t spoken since Tony had sent that scathing letter, blaming him for once again abandoning the children when they needed him most. Met with Stefen’s silence in reply, he regretted parts of it now, or at least, regretted perhaps not moderating his tone so that the words did not read so harshly. He’d expected the Captain’s reply to be clipped and harsh in its own way when it finally arrived; but what he held in his hands was the exact opposite of either.

All of these excessive gifts were apology Tony realized, his chest clenching as he read Stefen’s words. Buying forgiveness had once been Tony’s style and he was very familiar with what it looked like. It wasn’t like Stefen, but then again his options were few all the way in Germany and he was a man of action. This had probably seemed like the best one available.

Stupid man. Stupid wonderful man, Tony thought with an unbidden smile tugging at his mouth. He tucked the letter back in its envelope and frowned at the second letter, noting again the Naval seal and trying to ignore the apprehension prickling his skin as he tore it open and read.

_This letter, intended for Antony Eduard Stark, invites his presence at the office of the Kriegsmarine. Please arrive promptly at the scheduled time listed below. Any attempt to resist this summons may be considered unwillingness to cooperate with the authority given to us by His Excellency, Mein Führer und Reichskanzler, Adolf Hitler. We look forward to making your acquaintance._

_Sincerely,_

_Admiral Erhard Kopf der Marinewaffenamt._

 

~*~

_**Stefen** ,_

_The children thank you for your gifts and wish you to know that you are missed. It would be wrong for me not to express my personal thanks for the delivery of the espresso machine, though you should know Willamina is not at all a fan of this large new contraption that dominates her kitchen and distracts the maids. That said, I hope you did not purchase the machine with the thought of buying my favor?_

_Contentment is an elusive thing for any of us to grasp. I am happy in your employ and hope for many happy years to come, but I don’t think any one man can be entirely content even within a single day, let alone in the entirety of a lifetime. Life is too complex for that. There is always more to be done or some new agony to be felt. That is why we depend so heavily on distraction, is it not? And no matter how lovely a distraction morning espresso has proved to be, lovelier still would be news of your return and an end to Germany's campaign for the Rhineland._

_Stefen you should know that I do not hold your leaving against you. You know my feelings when it comes to it, and I’m sorry if my parting words were harsh. However, I meant them and will not apologize for offering a friend the truth as I see it. But the thing is done. A soldier goes where he is called. But that does not prevent his friends from worry or longing._

_I am proud to call you friend Stefen, regardless of our arguments. You know that, don't you? I certainly hope you know. And I certainly will know no contentment until you are at home safe with your children, growing fat and old in your retirement, and there is nothing more to be done about it. Those are the terms of my contentment._

_Now I must mention, that on the very day that your curiously extravagant gifts arrived I also received a summons from the naval office. I am to appear at Starkhafen in Hamburg in two days’ time. I know you, so let us just deal with your response now: I don’t know why I have been summoned, but I have a fair guess. Yes, I will be careful and no, it was not phrased as a request that I can refuse._

_Please don’t worry. To me it seems only logical that with the army mobilizing, so too must the navy. Much as it pains me to remember at times, I am the last of the Starks. They no doubt have hopes that I can be the same sort of asset to them that my father was and wish to speak to me as a matter of course. I do so hate to disappoint them, but alas, I’m afraid I am nothing like my father. By the time you read this letter I’ll have been and gone and home again, so there is no point in fretting._

_Soon we shall see one another again. I am as eager as you to see Berlin and to show you the streets I knew as a young man, as well as to discover what new delights can be found there. As honored as I am to be meeting your esteemed colleagues and some of Germany’s brightest minds, you must know my hunger to see the city only grows by the hour and I am afraid I shall not be content until I have experienced everything it has to offer._

_My only worry is that such an old man will not be able to keep up._

_Your friend,_

_Tony._

~*~*~*~

Saying goodbye to the children and leaving them behind in Salzburg was harder than Tony had anticipated it would be. While he trusted Pepper to keep the house running and see that the children made it to their youth programs for two days, Tony loathed to leave her in the middle of Ian and James continued row, and just when Sara was going through an independent phase and was prone to throwing fits if one didn’t allow her to dress herself or suggested that she wear a nappy while she napped in case of accidents.

“You’ll at least let her try won’t you? She fusses so much less if you just let her make a mess of it and then offer a few helpful suggestions, like stockings going on before shoes.” He’d prattled at Pepper before the housekeeper had finally threatened to have Hogan hogtie him and throw him in the trunk, and Tony had felt like an utter goose. Just listen to him, carrying on like a fretful housewife. Was that just what happened when children wriggled their way into your affections? And if so, it was a wonder Stefen wasn’t going mad now that he was forced to be away from them.

Well, he kept telling himself throughout the long train ride. It was good practice for them all because he’d only have to do it again in a few weeks time when he met the captain in Berlin. A far happier reason to be making the trek into Germany.

As it was, Tony was anxious to be back in the home of his father’s empire. The prodigal son returning after all these years. There were too many sour memories in Hamburg for him not to feel a certain sense of trepidation as the cab wound through old but familiar streets, taking him away from the heart of the city and toward the mouth of the river Elbe where Starkhafen sprawled like the robe of some great emperor around the Port of Hamburg.

Some would call the islands with their bustling industry packed to the brim with their warehouses and their shipyards a blemish on the land, but there was something wonderful about the smoke and the rust set against the blue of sky and water, that set his heart to thumping as the cab traveled down a busy dock toward a square building that sat squat like a frog at the edge of a pond.

Tony turned in his seat to follow the motion of a large crane as it carried a load from the dockside and lowered them onto a ship that was locked in harbor for repairs. They were using a model several years out of date he observed, indeed much of the machinery looked as if it hadn’t been updated since before the Great War. Hughard would never have stood for it.

The motor on that thing sounded terrible. There had to be a better model out there, or better yet, better to design their own. Tony could get it running smoother. Strengthen the hoist and maybe -

Tony, realizing the vein his thoughts had taken, Tony tightened his hands into fists and turned resolutely away from the window as the cab pulled up outside the naval office. What did it matter to him how the Stark Yards had fallen behind? There was not a thing he could do about it.

Those were Nazi flags hanging boldly outside the doors of the naval office he reminded himself, staring at them as they fluttered in the wind off the water.

There were two armed guard loitering near the front step. They came to attention as the driver opened his door and came around to open Tony’s, their stoic expressions telling a tale of boredom. But one of the men did a double take as Tony stepped out, his eyes narrowing in consideration before the light of recognition sparked in them.

That answered one of Tony’s questions at least. His visit there today wasn’t a secret. At least not a big enough one that it hadn’t made the rounds of soldier’s gossip. Practically snapping his heels, the more senior of the two approached Tony with a brisk step.

“Herr Stark?”

“I’m afraid so.” Tony replied with a wan smile but the soldier did not return it. If anything, the confirmation just made his back go all the straighter and his tone all the more militant as he gave Tony the customary salute.

“Heil Hitler!”

Tony returned the salute with the ease of practice.

“They’ve been expecting you in Admiral Erhard’s office. Sub-Lieutenant Amsel will show you the way.” The officer nodded crisply to his comrade who gave Tony a nod of acknowledgment before clicking his heels and setting off, clearly expecting Tony to follow.

Sub-Lieutenant Amsel led Tony briskly through busy corridors with polished floors, past open office doors and groups of uniformed men and others in sharp business suits. Preparing for war on sight seemed to be a booming enterprise. Tony got the feeling as they walked that eyes were following them and whispers just a step behind. If he strained his ears Tony had no doubt he’d hear them.

Is that him? Stark’s son? I didn’t know he had a son. Oh yes, I heard he’s mad and that old Hughard sent him to an institution. If he can build like his father he can be as mad as he likes.

“In here Herr Stark.” Sub-Lieutant Amsel’s voice jerked Tony out of his reverie and he realized with embarrassment that the man had stopped a few paces behind him at a closed door. Cheeks heating with embarrassment Tony cleared his throat and followed Amsel as the man knocked briskly on the closed door and opened it once a gravelly voice on the other side bid them enter.

Admiral Erhard’s office was much like any other. A large square room with windows facing the dockside, dressed with solid masculine furnishings. Figuring out which one was Erhard was as simple as looking for the one sitting in the big chair behind the large oak desk, but Tony hardly spared a thought for the décor or the admiral once he’d caught sight of his guests, or rather one guest in particular.

“Antony Stark” Obadiah breathed his name with wonder, as if Tony’s appearance there was somehow miraculous, the tall man rising from his chair in one slow graceful movement despite the slender walking stick Tony spotted resting against his chair. Shock held Tony in place as Stanislov’s mouth split into a wide happy grin and his godfather extended one broad palm to shake. Tony’s brain was struggling under the weight of shock and when it did kick start enough for him to numbly reach for Obi’s hand his thoughts only got muddier under a storm of impulses as the man gripped it firmly and pulled him in for a full-bodied hug.

Cigar smoke and expensive cologne filled Tony’s nose and for a moment, he was transported years in the past. He was small again, looking up at this man with so much trust and admiration, so much gratefulness when he would drop down to Tony’s eye level to impart an encouragement or a soothing word after one of Hughard’s tirades. From that vantage point it was nearly impossible to believe that Farkas was right in his suspicions. His uncle Obi, his very own godfather, organizing the murder of his parents? Tony’s murder if Hughard hadn’t been one step ahead.

He hadn’t realized until that very moment how much he didn’t want to believe it. He knew it was the child in him, but that didn’t make the yearning any easier to bank.

“I haven’t seen you since you were in shorts. You’re a man now.” Stanislov exclaimed as he pulled back, watchful eyes traveling up and down Tony’s form, taking him all in. “You look like Hugh. My god, it’s like looking back twenty years ago.”

There was something in Stanislov’s tone, some nuance that Tony couldn’t put his finger on that sent tension winding up his spine. He was reminded that as well as a good showman Stanislov had always been sharp, always good at ferreting out weakness and ways to get over on the opposition. Stanislov already knew Tony’s biggest weakness. Whatever game they were playing now, he had the advantage and they both knew it. Tony would have to step very carefully, at least until he figured out the rules.

“Twenty years changes a man,” Tony replied. He couldn’t help but dig, at least a little, but he softened the words with a smile for the admiral and his other guest, a fellow with greying hair in a sharp business suit and hat.

“I’ll say.” Stanislov laughed agreeably as the admiral cleared his throat and leaned over his desk to offer Tony his hand, which he took without hesitance.

“Herr Stark, a pleasure. I’m Admiral Erhard, I head the Naval Weapons Department. This is Herr Hoch, from the Ministry of Armaments and War Production.” Erhard gestured to the man in the suit with the greying hair and Hoch extended his hand to shake Tony’s.

“I knew your father.” The older man stated with an air of sobriety. “His loss was a terrible blow for us all.”

Tony didn’t try to come up with a reply for that. The conversation swept briskly along regardless, thanks to Stanislov’s smooth handling. Tony took a seat at the admiral’s urging and the others followed suit, reclaiming their own. Stanislov on his left, Hoch to his right and the admiral straight ahead. With Sub-Lieutenant Amsel guarding the door it struck Tony’s notice that he was effectively caged.

“I’m sure you’re eager to know why we’ve pulled you out of your retreat at the monastery.” Stanislov turned to him with a cheeky sort of smirk, implying some shared joke. “Is it true you took up teaching? I could hardly believe it when they told me. Hugh and I couldn’t keep you in the schoolroom. I always thought that’s why you preferred the cushy life of a monk.”

Tony smiled thinly.

“On the contrary. All those cushions and nothing to do but pray all day has taught me to love learning.”

Stanislov chuckled at his little joke, and maybe it was just Tony’s suspicions at work, but to him it seemed like there was no real humor behind it. It was all show.

“There’s that wit. Well you’ve always been clever Tony, that’s for sure.” the older man drawled reaching inside his jacket for one of his trademark cigars and all Tony could hear was his Nona, crying into the phone about how that wicked man had threatened them and refused to let them burry their daughter. Stanislov hadn’t even let her throw flowers on his mother’s grave.

“What is this about, gentleman?” Tony asked slowly, watching Obi as carefully as the man was no doubt watching him.

“We’ll get to the point Herr Stark, but first I must remind you that everything said in this room today is considered strictly confidential.” The admiral waited for Tony’s nod of confirmation before continuing.

“It is no secret that the Führer has promised a return of German peoples to German lands. This started with what was formerly Austria and will continue with others. The Führer expects opposition on the Baltic sea from the French, but the greater threat is Great Britain.”

“Strongest naval force in the world,” Tony mused aloud, just for the pleasure of watching the admiral’s mouth curl in distaste.

“Yes. But there was a time when we were stronger and the Führer demands that we be so again. General Schmidt informed us that you might be of some help.”

Erhard slid a leather-bound folder across the desk toward Tony and Tony stared at it for a moment, trepidation filling him like the thing might be a snake coiled in the grass. But they were all waiting, all watching, so he had no choice but to open it and examine the documents inside.

There were pages and pages of plans. Endless orders for ships and weapons to arm them and detailed designs to fill those orders. Everything was here. Plans for new battleships, submarines, aircraft carriers and at least seven new types of torpedoes that Tony could spot. He could also spot the mistakes, with barely more than a glance.

Fat bulbous torpedoes that might be intimidating to gawk at but were disproportionate in weight and burdened by bulky battery packs. Everywhere he looked he saw the marks of lazy uninspired engineering and it made his fingers curl, resisting the urge to start pulling out his hair.

Yes, if Stark Industries could actually produce even half of Hitler’s desires, the German Navy would have no trouble at all battering its way all the way to Britain’s shores and beyond, but one look was all Tony needed to know they’d never get there.

Whoever was in charge of engineering after his father’s death just didn’t have the right tools or the right know how. Hitler didn’t need someone who could build war ships just as good as anybody else. They needed somebody who could break the mold.

“Stark Industries has been contracted to come up with a comprehensive plan of production that meets the Führer’s needs. What you hold in your hands is Plan Z.” Hoch informed him, though Tony had already put as much together. He knew Stark ships when he saw them, though it burned to see how little progress they’d made in over two decades.

“It’s very ambitious.” Tony commented carefully and beside him Obadiah chuckled darkly.

“It’s crazy. We know it. I’ve told them we need to scale back but it’s what the Führer wants.” The man shrugged helplessly as if to say, ‘what can you do’, and Hoch cleared his throat.

“The Führer is adamant that we meet his expectations or find someone who can. He wants production completed in four years. He’s firm on this.”

Four years! Tony gaped. For all of this? The man was insane.

“Well… you gentlemen certainly have your work cut out for you. But I don’t understand how you expect me to help.”

An obvious lie. Tony knew exactly what they wanted, but they weren’t going to get it.

“Herr Stanislov informed us that you were never much involved with the business,” Hoch began and Tony barely resisted the urge to look at Stanislov. It wasn’t exactly a lie but it wasn’t the truth either and Stanislov damn well knew it. Hughard hadn’t liked Tony interfering with the work down in the yards, but he’d been training Tony to take over since before he could walk and Tony had usually found a way to stick his nose in anyway.

If Stanislov was implying something different it could mean that he didn’t actually want Tony’s involvement, or maybe he was just seeking ways to control the situation to his liking. Because the other’s might not know how much Stanislov needed him, but Tony could see it written clear as day.

“But it’s our understanding you attended the Academy of Sciences in Berlin?” Hoch questioned hopefully.

“Yes, at quite a young age too.” Obadiah confirmed before Tony could come up with any sort of reply of his own. “Fifteen wasn’t it Tony?”

“Yes.” Tony answered in monotone and Stanislov nodded slowly, musing aloud.

“He was a bright little thing. Hugh had high hopes he’d grow into the business but we had a lot of trouble with discipline, didn’t we?”

Stanislov was caging him, Tony realized. He was making it impossible for Tony to deny his brilliance at the same time he was making himself irreplaceable.

“Herr Stanislov is correct.” Tony said with a regretful sigh that he drugged up from somewhere. It was a pity he’d never taken to the stage. “I was expelled from the university when I was seventeen. I never properly finished my schooling.”

He’d been expelled for misconduct but at that point they had just been looking for reasons to be rid of him. As usual, Tony had been leagues ahead of peers and teachers alike and met with near instant dislike for that very fact. Forced with prejudice at times to go at the snail’s pace of his peers he’d been a very bored and often times belligerent student.

But they didn’t need to know the hairy details. Let them think he’d failed due to lack of aptitude.

He closed the folder in his lap and effectively the door on all that hope burgeoning in their eyes, and slid it back toward the admiral.

“Perhaps it’s for the best then Herr Stark. We spoke to the administration at the university.” The admiral stated simply. “The Headmaster did remember you as a bright pupil, but he expressed some concern over your reliability.”

Ah, so the admiral wasn’t all in favor of this push to bring Tony on board the project. Good. He could use that.

“But we had to ask,” Hoch quickly interceded. “Young men make mistakes and the Führer is nothing if not forgiving. If you felt up to the opportunity, Obadiah assures us he’d be willing to work with you. Help refine what gaps in knowledge you might be missing. You do understand what’s at stake here don’t you Herr Stark? If you two were to succeed, you’d be awarded the highest honors.”

Medals and riches and lots more besides, Tony thought. And if they failed, the Führer’s temper would see them as good as dead. Obadiah had to know that too. Tony understood exactly what was at stake here.

He finally turned his head and looked at his godfather once more. Looked at him in his pressed slacks and matching jacket, the salt and pepper beard he always sported trimmed neatly upon his face, his blue eyes staring back at Tony hiding so much scrutiny.

Tony let his shoulders sag and his head droop.

“I wish I could be more of a help to you.” He murmured helplessly. “But the last thing I want to do is promise something I can’t deliver. I’m not my father… Uncle Obie will tell you. I was always disappointing him. I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Führer that way.”

And neither would they, Tony knew, as the silence stretched awkwardly in the face of his show of meekness.

A heavy hand landed on Tony’s shoulder and gave it pat.

“You tried hard, Tony.” Stanislov murmured consolingly and Tony grit his teeth. “If you ever feel up to trying again you know where to find me.”

The meeting was clearly over as Herr Hoch wilted and Admiral Erhard stood with a resigned grimace. He thanked Tony for making the trip out (as if he’d had a choice in the matter) and Tony assured him that he’d keep them and their efforts in his prayers.

The look on Erhard’s face, like Tony had shit himself and not bothered to wash before going out in public, almost made Tony certain that they’d never be back to darken his door again. He knew better though.

~*~*~*~*~

_**Tony,** _

_I’m sending your ticket for the Sunday morning train aboard the Richlen Express. Arrive promptly, as they won’t wait._

_Also, I’ve sent along clothes for you. You’ve only got the one suit and I thought you’d like some new things to wear to dinner and perhaps something for if we are to see the opera again. I hope you like them better than the expresso machine. Even if you don’t, wear them or I’ll think the money wasted. We can be rid of the machine if you like._

_While I understand your eagerness to explore this great city, I’m not sure you understand just how great it truly is. I don’t think even a man of your energy can cover its entirety in just a few days. Sorry to disappoint you._

_-Stefen_

 

_**Stefen,** _

_Whoever said I didn’t like the expresso machine? I simply said it was a paltry replacement for the company of a good friend. The expresso machine goes nowhere. But on the matter of appropriate evening attire, I can only vow to do as my employer commands. I wouldn’t want to shame you in front of your esteemed peers. Though I must admit I was surprised by some of the selections. They’re all very fashionable, but not at all the kind of conservative garb in your usual taste. It perfectly suits mine so I won’t let you take it back, but I felt it only fair to warn you that whatever tailor you trusted to the task took you and likely your purse for a merry ride._

_On the matter of Berlin, I believe you severely underestimate my energies._

_-Tony_

 

~*~*~

The one good thing about Captain Rogers living in the countryside was that the train wasn’t very crowded when Tony boarded that Sunday. There were just a few other people sitting down for coffee when Tony made his way to the dining cart. A pair of men in business suits at one table and an old woman with a small dog in her lap at another. She was speaking animatedly to the young fellow sitting opposite her, who might have been her grandson if one judge by the similar shape of their faces, but either way the poor boy didn’t appear to be very invested in the conversation.

He was paying much more attention to the pastry on his plate than his grandmother but he looked up when Tony entered, wide eyes taking in Tony’s scuffed-up trunk so at odds with the expensive suit he wore with curiosity.

Tony had worn the fine white jacket and matching slacks that had come in one of the many boxes Stefen had delivered, along with a fine eye popping red vest he’d fallen in love with the moment he’d laid eyes on it.

The conductor had offered to take his things when he boarded but Tony had waived him off. He just had the one trunk and saw no need to store it in the luggage van when the journey would be no more than a few hours.

It was not his first time on a train but such was the life of a monk that it had been some time since Tony had traveled first class on one. He was gratified that Stefen’s unnecessary efforts to woo him had continued in this area. He’d never been so thankful to see plush cushions on the seats and a pastry trolley making the rounds. It was not such a long journey between Austria and Germany but several hours in a thunderbox could be a test on the nerves when one was packed in like a sardine on a hard seat.

Tony took a seat at an empty table, near the boy and his grandmother and signaled for the host when he’d settled to order a coffee. He was content at first to open one of the books he’d brought for just this sort of lull in activity, but he found it difficult to keep his attention on the pages. His thoughts strayed often back to the Villa, wondering on the children and how Pepper was faring with them. Wondering on Peter and how the first few weeks of term were going, and of course, there was the counting down of minutes he couldn’t seem to deter. His agile mind keeping track of the passing of minutes like the most steadfast of clocks, all of it winding down to when the train would reach the station in Berlin and he would find Stefen waiting for him there.

Would he be pleased that Tony had worn some of the clothing he’d had tailored for him? Surely he couldn’t know how Tony had wondered about that, wondered if Stefen had left it to the salesman, or if he’d gone through the selections himself, thinking on how the fine fabrics would feel against the skin and what cuts and lines would make Tony’s legs look longer, shoulders broader.

More than once Tony had to snicker at himself and resolutely push such ridiculous thoughts out of his head. Captain Rogers cared as much about current fashion as Tony cared for morning vigil (which was not at all) and while he was surely as passionate a fellow as any under all that military regimen, he was hardly what Tony would call knowledgeable in the games that lovers played.

No, the kind of salacious frivolity that fed the underbelly of society and had once thrived so brightly in the kabarett halls that Hitler had scourged when he came to power, had surely never touched Stefen and Margrit Rogers and their cozy little home in the country.

Tony sighed, turning the page of his book even though he barely recalled what he’d read. It was just a damn shame, that Stefen had never experienced the full flush that the twenties had offered. Back when the music and culture that Tony had discovered in the red-light districts as a young man had burst into the public eye in full color. The strange and the unusual holding their heads up proudly and strutting across the world stage in defIance while the world looked on in awe.

It had given him hope once. A reason to long for the future, when he could be free of the abbey for good. The world had seemed better then, ready and waiting with arms open.

And so it went, Tony sat alone at his table while the train lurched along, passing through fields and hills and skirting the edges of towns that from the outside, almost looked as if they hadn’t been touched at all by Hitler’s rise, and he tried to distract himself with his book but largely failed.

He was finally given some respite when the train reached the bustling station in Nuremburg and a flush of new passengers trickled into the dining car. Among them was a young woman, traveling alone and very obviously nervous about it. She kept casting her eyes about uncertainly as she glanced at her ticket, as if she was not sure she was in the right place or which seat to take. Her hair was a pretty shade of red and Tony found himself smiling indulgently at her when she caught his eye. A curious pang of longing filled him, and he wondered suddenly what Natacha was doing. Good god, he'd only been away for a few hours, he berated himself. Surely, he was stronger than this?

Still he smiled to the young woman, lifting a hand to catch her attention and gesturing to the empty seat across from him. She smiled gratefully and made her way toward his table, apologizing to the boy and his grandmother when she accidently brushed the old woman with her bag as she passed.

Tony got up from his seat to pull out a chair for her and she thanked him, sitting down with an exhausted air and a slightly overwhelmed expression.

"First time on the train?" he asked, not without sympathy and she grimaced.

"Is it that obvious?"

She had a faint accent Tony noticed, a lovely lilt that was very pleasant to the ear.

"I remember my first train ride. I was beside myself. This one is faster, class one engine. You can tell by the sound."

"That great rattling din you mean?"

Tony laughed.

"They don't call it a thunderwagon for nothing."

"I think I much prefer the automobile,” the young woman despaired, giving the compartment around them a disgruntled look and Tony bit back a smile.

"Well, at the very least you'll see some beautiful countryside. While enjoying the best coffee," he gestured toward the window with one hand as he signaled for the host with the other. "Would you like something to eat Frauline...?" he led and the young woman quickly offered an introduction.

"McCabe, and no I really couldn't eat a thing, I'm so nervous it's liable to come back up."

"Are you really that nervous? Tony asked with surprise. "Trains are very safe you know."

"Oh, it's not that, though it does rattle to convince one otherwise. It's just that I'm meeting my fIancé in Berlin."

"Ah, so it's a different kind of nerves. Well then we'll take two warm chocolates," Tony instructed the host who nodded quickly and began fixing the drinks. When frauline McCabe opened her mouth to protest he cut her off with a wink and an assurance, "there's nothing like warm coco for calming your nerves."

"Thank you. That's very kind mister…?"

"Stark, but I insist you call me Tony, everybody does."

"Well, only if you will call me Bethany. And allow me to pay you for the coco."

Tony waved a hand dismissively when she reached for her purse.

"I wouldn't hear of it. The money is not even mine in any case.” When he saw her curiosity Tony grinned, explaining. “My journey is being financed by my employer and I’ve been ordered to have whatever I like, damn the expense."

“Goodness.” Bethany chuckled lowly, her blue eyes dancing with amusement. “Your employer is incredibly generous. What is it you do?”

“Well officially I’m a monk. Though currently I’m on assignment as a tutor.”

"A monk, but you’re so…” Bethany gaped, her eyes roving over him appreciatively before she realized what she was about, and a faint blush colored he cheeks.

“Handsome? Debonair?” Tony teased, because there was no better way to pass the time than in the company of a pretty woman who thought you attractive, especially when said woman could as easily throw you back as reel you in.

Which evidently Bethany McCabe had no problem doing as she gave him a very stern, frankly Pepperish look and drawled, “Certainly not humble.”

Tony laughed, and raised his cup to her.

“You must hear this a lot, but you remind me of Captain Adventure.” Bethany’s cheeks pinked with slight embarrassment as Tony inclined his head curiously. “My father is a subscriber. Are you familiar with the magazine?”

“No, I can’t say I am. I’ve never heard of it.”

“Bah, well truthfully I’m too old for adventure stories but the artwork is so lovely I find I can hardly resist them. And everyone wants to be an adventurer in their heart of hearts I think.” She shrugged bashfully with a little smile and Tony smiled back.

“If I remember to I’ll order a subscription” he said and her grin widened.

“Are you going to Berlin as well?" she asked conversationally after they’d both sipped their drinks for a moment.

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"Though not to meet a fIancé I imagine, with the way you came to my rescue." she murmured into her cup and Tony's lips twisted in a wry smile.

"Not as such. But even if I was, I assure you I’d behave the same way. I’m an incurable flirt."

“What an interesting monk you must have made.”

“I think so. When in is your big day?”

"Oh, not until spring.” Bethany heaved a sigh, as if the long months between her and spring were the most insurmountable thing she could imagine.

“Why wait?” He questioned.

"My father is insisting."

"I suppose he wants a big splash?"

"The opposite I think. He’d like me to change my mind."

Oh, Tony thought, startled. Though he was happy to see he’d been right about his estimation of the young woman’s spunk. He admired her straight back and the gleam of determination in her eye that told him she wouldn’t be changing her mind, unhappy father or no.

"He wants me to be happy,” she amended gently a moment later. “But he's worried about me being so far from London and he’s not overly fond of the Germans. My father works in parliament you see and Alex is only a minor diplomat, but he’s so passionate about his work. He and daddy argue every time they are in the same room. You know how men can be when it comes to their politics.”

Tony’s smile dimmed, sadness creeping in around the edges.

“I do.” he murmured in answer. In truth, he quite agreed with poor Mr. McCabe, but he would not say so in the face of Bethany’s youthful passions and bright optimism. The heart led and sometimes there were few options but to follow and one could not simply judge every German simply for being German, but Tony couldn’t say he’d have jumped for joy if his daughter came home starry eyed over some public official in present times.

“They say we’ll be at war before the month is out but there is a chance still, that all the fuss is for nothing. Don’t you think?” Bethany asked, with an air of hopefulness. “Mr. Chamberlin is a very sensible man, and something good will come of these peace talks. I’m sure of it.”

Tony smiled wanly. He wasn’t so sure.

“Well, in any case, I hope you and your Alex have many happy years to come.” He said, decisively raising his cup to her and she smiled gratefully in acknowledgment, biting the corner of her lip to suppress a giddy grin.

She was in love, and Tony wished her the best of luck with it, but war changed everything and touched everyone. Didn’t he know it.

Time would certainly tell them all if they were strong enough to weather it.

~*~

 

When the train pulled into station in Berlin Tony’s heart had taken up a distracting pace within his chest, each beat overly strong in his opinion, as if it were attempting to be heard over the many voices and the roar and squeal as the train came to a stop.

His eyes raked the crowd outside the window but he didn’t immediately spot the captain within the dozens of faces crowding the platform, some waiting on loved ones and many more waiting with their luggage in hand to board.

He collected his things and assisted Frauline McCabe with gathering hers. Though he doubted his cheeks echoed the flush of excitement coloring the girl’s face as they departed the train, Tony’s eyes searched the crowd just as eagerly.

“Oh there he is. Alex!” Bethany called out suddenly, lifting her arm to wave and catch the attention of a fair-haired man somewhere in his late twenties in polished shoes and a grey summer coat. The young man’s face split into a delighted grin and he began to fight the crowd in order to make his way towards her.

“Good luck.” Tony offered in parting, chuckling under his breath when Bethany, who had already stepped toward her fiancé, jerked to a stop and turned on her heel to offer her own belated goodbye.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Tony. I do hope you’ll write. You can leave an address for me at the Adlon until the end of the week.”

“Likewise, I’ll be staying at the Kaiserhof for the next few days if you need anything.” Tony replied taking the young woman’s hand and shaking it gently. He released her, and with a fond smile Bethany McCabe turned away and then she was off, rushing to meet the waiting arms of her young man. Tony watched the reunion for a moment with gladness, but the intimacy in their embrace and the sight of their happiness reminded him of his own longing, deepening it until it ached tenderly like a bruise within his chest.

“Tony.” He heard called from somewhere close behind him, the captain’s smooth voice unmistakable even though it was low and the room full of noise and Tony felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turned, finding Stefen not two strides away, in a pair of unassuming slacks held up by suspenders and a plain white shirt. He didn’t look at all like an important military man now, little besides his height separating him from any other working man on the street. Not that Tony was complaining. No far from it.

The simple attire suited him just as much as the uniform. Maybe more. His rolled-up sleeves certainly played well to the definition of his arms Tony noted, heart thumping wildly in his chest as he drank in the sight of Stefen standing there looking delectable, hands shoved casually within his pockets and late summer sun beaming down on his golden head.

Tony’s lips spread slowly into a smile that to him felt a touch feverish.

“You’re looking very relaxed Major Rogers. I feel over-dressed.”

“When you’re stuck in uniform every day you take advantage of leave when you have it,” Stefen replied evenly, stepping toward Tony and reaching for the bag at his side without taking his eyes from him. When he was unbearably close Stefen lowered them slowly to take him in fully and when they raised again to meet Tony’s, there was an unbanked hunger in his eyes that sent arousal twisting deep within Tony’s gut.

“I’m glad to see they fit well.”

Stefen’s fingers brushed Tony’s in a gesture that might have been accidental as he took his trunks from him and Tony’s breath hitched. The spell was broken as Stefen moved away with the trunk and cool air rushed between them, but Tony’s heart didn’t seem to know it. It leaped somewhere up into his throat and made itself very difficult to swallow around.

It hammered as they walked through the station and out to the car that waited for them on the corner, and it seemed overly loud within the confines of the quiet car as they rolled through the paved streets and Berlin unfurled around them. Tony barely noticed anything of their surroundings, too preoccupied with the burning heat at his shoulder every time Stefen brushed against him and trying not to sound like a babbling idiot answering the drivers occasional polite question.

No, it was not his first time in Berlin but it had been a few years since his last visit. Oh yes, he’d be sure and see the sights, however he was feeling worn from the journey. It might be best to take a nap before dinner tonight, what a sensible suggestion Stefen. Couldn’t be seen wilting in front of Germany’s finest.

The pulled up outside the Kaiserhof and were met by a busboy who helped them unload Tony’s luggage onto a trolley and wheel it through the busy lobby, and onto the impressive new electric powered elevator. Tony barely paid any attention to it or what direction they took to their suite.

It seemed to him one moment they were down in the lobby waiting for the arrival of the elevator and the next they were walking through the doors of the elegant double suite that was to be theirs for the duration of their stay.

The hotel had obviously given the captain one of their best options. There were fresh flowers in every vase within the sitting room and there was bright sunshine beaming in through the balcony.

Stefen directed the busboy to deposit Tony’s things in the second bedroom and then fished in his pocket for a tip before guiding the young man toward the door, thanking him for his service.

The door closed behind the busboy and Tony heard the lock slide with a click that rang in his ears with finality. He stood frozen, staring blankly at the lavish sitting room without really seeing it as the sound of footsteps retreated outside the door.

Tony felt rather than heard Stefen move, the skin on the back of his neck prickling with heat a moment before the captain breathed his name lowly in the quiet room.

“Tony?”

Tony turned to face him, nearly turning right into his arms the man was hovering so close, and his pulse quickened as one of Stefen’s hands came to settle on his hip. No pressure, just a light steadying touch, but Tony felt the heat of his hand like it was burning through his slacks.

“Here I am, Captain.” Tony said with a small smile, drinking in the way Stefen’s eyes roved over his face, as if looking to memorize it. Tony’s voice was far steadier than he felt and he wondered that Stefen could stay so unaffected when he felt that at any moment he might humiliate himself and start begging for the man to touch him.

“So you are.” Stefen answered and the rough rasp sent a shiver up Tony’s spine but he couldn’t formulate any sort of reply, not drowning as he was in the hunger burning in the bright blue of Stefen’s eyes like flame, and then without any sort of provocation Stefen surged forward, pulling Tony to him by that firm hand on his waist and crushed their mouths together.

Tony pressed back, hands sinking desperately into the soft strands of Stefen’s hair, unable to help the low helpless moan that shuddered from him, as the unbearable coil of anticipation that had only been coiling tighter and tighter with the wait finally snapped.

The pressure against his lips was hot, the demanding push of Stefen’s tongue against them even hotter. Stefen’s hand had dragged up the side of his hip and slipped under his vest to yank impatiently at his shirt and Tony had the frantic thought that they should maneuver closer to the couch when Stefen’s slick tongue thrust boldly inside his mouth and scattered his thoughts.

Bed. They needed a bed. But Stefen tasted faintly of mint and something deeper, something so Stefen, and Tony groaned, sliding his tongue against Stefen’s and chasing after his taste. He wanted more of it desperately but sharper was the ache for touch, and Tony’s shaking hands stroked franticly over the long column of Stefen’s throat, down the back of his neck and over the breadth of his shoulders to catch on the straps of his suspenders.

Tony shoved at them and he wasn’t alone in his urgency to be rid of the barrier between himself and the heated flesh burning against his. Stefen bowed him backward, mouth unyielding, forcing Tony to stumble blindly backward as the captain’s hands yanked his shirt out of his slacks.

Stefen was jerking at the button on his slacks as the back of Tony’s knees hit something solid and Tony gasped, startled. The couch he realized in a daze as Stefen pushed. He let himself drop obediently against the cushions.

Distantly he thought his lungs must be grateful for the respite, but all he could see was the bruised red of Stefen’s lips and the desire in his eyes as the captain loomed over him, one hand braced against the couch arm for support as his hungry gaze tracked the heave of Tony’s chest as he struggled for breath.

God the way Stefen was looking at him, like he was some wondrous creature he’d stumbled upon in some dangerous wild.

“Am I the first man you’ve ever had like this?” Tony asked through a dry throat, because it was important, but his throat felt dryer than a desert in the absence of Stefen’s warm and wet mouth. He ran his tongue over his lip, swallowing thickly when Stefen’s gaze zeroed on the movement. A devilish grin widened Tony’s mouth, wonder trickling through him at the realization.

“I think I am, aren’t I?”

Instead of an answer Stefen’s mouth descended over his again, capturing his lips in a punishing kiss that stole Tony’s breath. Still, his poor lungs tried, sucking in a sharp breath when Stefen’s hand brushed against his cock still trapped in his open slacks. The heat of Stefen’s palm seeped through Tony’s cotton briefs as he stroked and squeezed in a fumbling fashion that betrayed his inexperience but Tony couldn’t care for all the world.

He panted for breath, trying to work open the button on Stefen’s slacks without the vantage of sight, but Stefen was making it difficult with the way he was kissing him and pressing his palm against Tony’s cock.

Captain Rogers did not kiss like a gentleman. He devoured Tony’s mouth with an edge of starvation that only increased the feeling of urgency building between them. When Stefen bit at his bottom lip and sent pain stinging through Tony’s mouth to twist along with the pleasure he gasped, hips bucking upward without thought.

His cock straining in his briefs brushed against the bulge straining in Stefen’s open slacks and the captain moaned, pleasure shuddering through him as he fell forward, one arm shoving under the arch of Tony’s back to grab roughly at the swell of his ass and lift, hips thrusting downward to chase after that wonderful friction and the sparks of pleasure it ignited.

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Tony cursed, and he thought he heard a huff of laughter punch out of Stefen’s chest but the sound was lost amidst their desperate pants for breath as they thrust against each other, movements frantic and without rhythm. Stefen gave him no choice, caging Tony’s body with his, pulling him into each powerful thrust in a mad rush to completion. It was the euphoria of children consuming a sweet delight in a single swallow and all Tony could do was hold on, arm thrown over Stefen’s neck and hand fisted tightly in his shirt as the pleasure built and built.

“Stefen… oh Stefen… oh Christ.”

The orgasm hit him suddenly, the pleasure an exquisite agony that crashed through his entire body and left him boneless. He spilled all over himself, a hot stickiness flooding his briefs. Stefen continued to thrust against him, turning the pleasure sharp with overstimulation but Tony did not resist it. He watched Stefen chase his pleasure, watched as he stared down at Tony through the fall of his sweat slick hair, fevered gaze almost vacant as he panted for breath; and thought that he was more beautiful in this one moment than he’d ever seen him.

He was close. Tony could tell by the sound of each ragged breath. He could feel Stefen shaking against him, and at first he thought it was from how very close he was to completion, but when Tony looked into his eyes again they’d changed.

They were bright and glistening with moisture, wide with the kind of fear a man might feel on top of a wildly bucking horse or in a car that has spun out of control.

Stefen’s thrusts began to stagger and an overwhelming tenderness filled Tony’s chest with an unbearable ache. He let go of his grip on Stefen’s shirt and slid his now free arm around his neck until they were locked in embrace. Stefen’s brow dropped against his. The captain choked out a sob and Tony held him tight, shushing him as if he were a babe.

“Shh. Finish for me love. Go on. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Stefen’s hips juddered against him and he came suddenly with a strangled gasp, and then unable to keep holding himself up he slumped down, body laying heavily over Tony’s.

“Oof,” Tony grunted in surprise as the breath drove out of him, and Stefen jerked, clearly wanting to spring off of him but lacking the strength just yet. Tony shushed him again, hands stroking over his back soothingly as he attempted to shift them so Stefen’s weight was more evenly distributed.

“That was beautiful. Wasn’t it, love?” he crooned into Stefen’s ear, pressing tender kisses against the soft skin at his neck. Stefen’s body violently shivered and a tear hot and wet slipped from his eye before he buried his face against Tony’s neck, shuddering as if it were sub temperatures within the room.

“You’re cold.” Tony murmured, feeling the goosebumps that had pebbled the captain’s skin. “And no wonder. We made quite the mess of ourselves.”

In certainly more ways than one. The wetness in Tony’s briefs had turned cold and uncomfortable, and though he doubted Stefen was fairing much better, he knew it was the drop from the overwhelming emotional stimulation responsible for Stefen’s state.

A fine partner Tony was. He was supposed to be the experienced one, and here he’d completely lost his head and let Stefen rush them headlong into a sexual affair he was clearly not prepared for. It was the thought of Stefen hurt in some way that the eyes could not see that kept Tony calm, kept his heart beating steadily even when Stefen did not respond to his pulling away. Tony made his way over to the bathing room and grabbed one of the fine towels stacked on the shelf above the sink. He wet it and quickly went about the business of cleaning himself up, and once finished returned quickly to the living room to find the captain had slumped down into the couch cushions like a boneless ragdoll.

Stefen barely responded as Tony knelt beside the couch and began to remove his shoes, talking him through it the way he talked little Sara through getting dressed in the mornings. When Tony had removed Stefen’s slacks and began to lower his briefs Stefen winced as the cool air met the mess of semen smeared all over his skin.

“You’re alright, love.” He murmured, it and a thousand other gentle encouragements as he gently washed away the mess. When Stefen was clean Tony abandoned the soiled towel atop the pile of clothes on the floor, uncaring of what Stefen would think when he was back to rights, just so long as he got there.

Tony climbed back aboard the couch, laying his smaller frame across Stefen’s back and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

Stefen was still shaking.

“I’m here.” Tony murmured into his ear, holding tighter. “You were wonderful.”

Stefen didn’t speak, but with time his trembles quieted and his breathing evened.

They lay there what could have been hours, letting the world come back to rights, Tony waiting for Stefen to come back to himself. He did not mind. He’d have laid there three times longer if need be.

At some point Stefen shifted underneath him and Tony immediately sat up, lessening the weight on his back, but Stefen only turned so that his back lay against the couch and reached for Tony’s hand to tug him back down. He went all too willingly and Stefen wrapped his arms around Tony, cradling the smaller man to his chest like an overgrown child with a stuffed bear.

Tony felt his lips stretching in a smile he feared was somewhere on the besotted end. His head was full of Stefen, his nose full of the scent of him – of sex and sweat to be sure, but of Stefen – and of the flowers in their vases, and his heart had never felt so heavy or so light all at once. Tony’s eyes slipped closed, an old song humming gently through his mind and a smile curved his lips.

_Quando sei lontana. Sogno all'orizzonte E mancan le parole_.

“The Mariner.”

Stefen’s breath tickled over Tony’s skin, his voice little louder than a murmur. Tony cracked open one eye, to find soft blue ones staring steadily down at him.

“That song you’re humming, it’s from the opera, isn’t it?”

Tony nodded, sighing contentedly as the music in his head finished it’s swell.

“I’m surprised you know ‘Il Mariner’. I didn’t think you were so fond of Italian opera.”

“When the show came to Salzburg I took Peggy. It was before we were married. I guess I was trying to impress her.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“It must have left an impression on you if you still remember the music after all these years.”

“I bought a record.” Stefen admitted gruffly, eyes lowering to examine some dusty memory. “The sailor had to go to war and leave behind the people he loved… I don’t need to be as fluent in Italian as you to understand that.”

“No. I suppose not.” Tony agreed quietly, caressing the curve of Stefen’s bicep gently with his thumb. “Are you feeling better now?”

Stefen nodded silently, but he was refusing now to meet Tony’s eye and that just wouldn’t do. Gently, Tony pressed his teeth against a patch of skin on Stefen’s broad chest, urging lowly as the muscles beneath him clenched and Stefen’s breathing hitched.

“Look at me Stefen.”

When Stefen’s eyes met his once more they were guarded but held a familiar gleam of challenge and Tony chuckled.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of. In any of it. You know that don’t you?”

They’d not talked about it before and they should have. One did not simply just decide one day that they were going to take a lover of their own sex the same way they decided today they might wear a red vest.

“I wouldn’t change it.” Stefen growled defensively, arms tightening around Tony as if Tony had suggested they take it back.

“That’s not the same as feeling no shame.” Tony pointed out. Stefen merely shrugged, clearly deciding that no more thought on the matter was needed because he buried his face against Tony’s neck with intent, kissing at the tender skin.

“Am I the first lover you’ve taken?” Tony repeated the question of earlier, determined to at least broach the conversation before they were otherwise distracted. Stefen chuckled darkly against his neck.

“I was married Tony.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Tony rejoined, pulling away from Stefen’s busy (wonderful) mouth and glaring at the man without much heat. This time Stefen was the one to sigh.

“Alright, yes. But it’s all the same. You won’t have any complaints in my bed.”

The snap of command was back in Stefen’s tone and Tony couldn’t help the stir of arousal deep in his belly but he did his best to quell the feeling, because honestly. As if Tony was ever going to be displeased to find himself in bed with Captain Rogers.

“Don’t be dull. It’s not about your prowess.”

“Then what is it about?” Stefen snapped with agitation, confusion furrowing his brow.

“It’s about the fact that from the time we were small we were told this was something we should not want. You will have emotions about that, whether you’ve taken the time to consider them or not.” Tony insisted, knocking Stefen pointedly with his knee in place of knocking him over the head.

Stefen’s eyes glittered with amusement, mouth turning toward a smirk but he must have seen that Tony was determined because when he did finally speak, it was at least somewhere in the general vein of what they needed to discuss.

“Among the Rom we call this unclean.”

“Ah, see there!” Tony latched on to the opening. “And when did you first know you were unclean?”

“Young.” Stefen shrugged but when Tony prodded him with his knee once more he added, “I think I was close to Ian’s age.”

“So near the age of eleven. You must have felt very alone.”

When Stefen did not answer Tony wasn’t discouraged. Captain Rogers was not a verbose sort and Tony could do enough talking for six people.

“I was only a little younger myself when I realized. I had something of a crush on a boy who worked for us. His name was Rhodey.” Tony chuckled sadly. “I was so afraid my father would find out. It used to keep me up at night, imagining what he would have done to Rhodey if he knew.”

Stefen’s eyebrows inched upwards as he observed the shudder Tony couldn’t quite suppress.

“Surely nothing horrible? “he asked hesitantly. “The men in the caravan, they would have beat me and left me for dead. I always knew that. But I always thought it was different for your sort.”

“You mean the rich and ridiculous?” Tony drawled, shifting once more so that he could brace his elbows against the couch and look down at Stefen who was chuckling at him.

“When you’re a millionaire you can afford to be eccentric that’s true, but not with the wrong sort. You can’t love a negro.” Tony mused darkly, old bitter memories rising to the surface.

“At least not openly. Not back then. They’d have killed him without a second thought. I made sure no one knew how I felt, least of all poor Rhodey. I flirted with every woman who would so much as look at me and made an ass of myself trying to down out any other feelings. The first time I ever had a woman it was one of the kitchen girls. She was older, got engaged to a miller that fall… I guess she liked the thrill of making a man out of the Stark heir. But it really didn’t. I was a lonely boy and that just made it worse.”

“I’m sorry Tony.” Stefen said after a long moment of silence where the air felt heavy around them and Tony’s heart heavy with it. But his spirits lightened at the soft sound of Stefen’s voice and the even softer way he brushed his lips against Tony’s temple, lips brushing at the sweat slick hair that curled there.

“It wasn’t all bad. I knew there were others out there who would embrace who I was and I sought them out. I had my day in the sun believe me.”

Tony waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Stefen smiled, though it still seemed sad around the edges. His thoughts were still clearly on the lonely boy Tony had been, and maybe in a similar fashion, the lonely Romani boy that still lived somewhere inside of him.

“It was the one thing I could never tell Bucky.” Stefen admitted gruffly, seemingly apropos of nothing, after another long moment had passed with neither of them speaking and Tony nodded slowly in understanding.

“My father had dragged me out of every nightclub and gin-joint in three different ports by the time I was seventeen. The war was on. I can believe that my mother agreed to sending me to the monastery because she wanted to save my life, but I think my father just wanted me out of the picture. My reputation was bad for business.” Tony admitted with a rueful shrug.

“I wouldn’t change it Stefen, but there was much I did in my search to find acceptance, far before I was truly ready for it. I’m not without bruises. I would have that different for you. Very different.”

Tony would have Stefen hurt by nothing, ever again, if he could help it. It was an unbearably vulnerable way to feel but Tony was far past being able to help it. Lucky for him, Stefen didn’t seem to want him to. The captain’s mouth had curled in a slow almost sleepy smile that Tony wanted to kiss but the intensity of his gaze held him in place as Stefen cupped his face between his big hands and slowly stroked the side of his jaw with his thumbs.

“Sing for me.”

Tony smiled, understanding immediately even though the segue might have thrown anyone else.

“When I am alone, I sit and dream on the horizon but all the words are missing.” Tony began to recite from memory. “Yes, I know that even in a room full of sunlight, there can be no light if you are not with me. Open the windows, show everyone my heart. Close inside of me, the light that you brought from the street.”

Stefen watched Tony’s mouth move as he quietly sang the words to the old love song, a lover’s promise to another that they would go together into any brave new world, across any vast ocean, and that even separated, even then, they’d still be together. The light guiding each other home.

“When you’re far away, dreaming on the horizon and the words are missing. Know you’re here with me, building bridges over land and sea. You’re with me, my moon, my sun. You’re with me.”

Stefen’s gaze lifted up from his lips, burning with a naked longing that made the words stick in Tony’s suddenly dry mouth. It was such romantic drivel. But the words had touched Tony all those years ago and there was something so wonderful about learning they had touched Stefen too.

It was quite a beautiful thing to suppose, that when Tony had heard these words sung in a darkened theater, with his heart lonely and aching, that Stefen had perhaps been there somewhere in the crowd with his Margrit, falling in love for the first time and wholly unaware of how one day – after losing himself in darkness – their lives would touch.

“Finish.” Stefen urged with a low rasp and Tony swallowed to moisten his mouth and did just that.

“I'll leave with you. Countries that I’ve never seen or shared, with you now I’ll go. On ships over seas, that I’ll now know. But they don’t exist anymore, and would I have to brave them alone? Without true light of my own. I’ll leave with you, my love, I’ll leave with you...”

The last words had barely escaped Tony’s mouth before Stefen’s hands tightened their hold and drew him into a kiss, his mouth claiming Tony’s with an unbearable sweetness that made the monk shudder from head to toe, a lump of tangled emotions burning behind his rib cage as he brought his hands up to clutch desperately at Stefen.

“Come to Switzerland.” Stefen murmured into the stillness and this time when he asked, there was no mistaking for either of them what he was asking for.

The promise of Ruth. Everything Tony had ever wanted… a promise far too good to be true.

"I've thought on it, Stefen. Truly I have."

Stefen, never a fool, heard the no coming in his voice.

"But you still doubt that I would take care of you," he stated as a matter of fact and Tony huffed a self-depreciating little laugh.

"No. I'm certain of it in fact. That is the problem. I'm certain that I’d love to stay with you and finish the children’s schooling. I’m certain that I would enjoy many happy years in your house and in your bed."

"Then we’re in agreement. There’s nothing more to discuss."

Normally that ‘hear no argument’ tone would have begun to grate on Tony’s nerves but he couldn’t bring himself there quite yet. He was too fond of the man, and currently pressed too close not to observe all the telltale signs of vulnerability Stefen probably didn’t even know he possessed.

"There is always the subject of cages, and the pretty birds we like to put in them." Tony muttered in reply and Stefen frowned darkly.

"There you go.” The captain’s chest rose and fell in a sigh of frustration. “I don't understand you Tony. If you want this as much as I do, why talk about cages?"

Why indeed. Tony kicked himself. Why was he resisting this so hard when it was what he knew he wanted?

“I know it would be sensible to go with the children and accept the life of ease you’re so eager to offer me. It wouldn’t be any more difficult than devoting my life to God was.” He admitted in a thin, tired voice.

A small smirk tilted the corner of his mouth upward as he added, “Far less, I imagine, since I expect I’ll enjoy getting on my knees more now than I ever did before. There are certain holies I could see my way towards becoming devout for… but even so, it would be just another box for me to hide away in and that is where the line between living with yourself and living with your sensibilities ends.”

“What is it you want then?” Stefen asked, brow burrowing heavily in confusion, a bite of aggravation in his tone as he snipped. “Name it, Tony and you’ll have it. I don’t understand why you’re talking about boxes and cages when you could have the damn world for all I cared.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment Captain, but it’s worthless when the world isn’t something you can buy me or have delivered to my doorstep. The world is achieved. It’s something we have to take for ourselves and you can’t give me back twenty years of life anymore than you can guarantee me twenty more,” Tony replied with slow precision.

“I must take it for myself. But the trouble is fear. I’m afraid to go and afraid to stay and afraid either way that I’m too addled to know which way is up. I don’t know whether I want a quiet life with a family I’m proud to call mine, or if I want simply to be left alone to create something that will stop an army. Something that would make even ‘His Excellency’ tremble at the idea of considering any alternative but peace, or risk the war that ends all wars. Sometimes I even think I could really do it, if given half an opportunity. It’s a hunger inside of me I can’t stifle and I can’t sleep for the fear that eats at me, telling me to get up and do something for all our sakes.”

It was very quiet following his little speech and Tony could feel Stefen’s eyes boring into him, could imagine them well enough staring at him with glittering intelligence, catching more than Tony was comfortable revealing.

“This is about your company," the captain stated after a long moment. Damn his eyes. Tony tried not to clench up, refuting.

“It’s about standing up on my own."

Stefen gave him a look of complete disbelief.

"You're considering their offer."

"I'm considering that I can do a damn lot more good from Starkhafen than Switzerland.”

“Forget it Tony. I’ve already taken care of it so that they won’t bother you again. I really do not understand you at all Stark. You’re the one always urging us to go!” Stefen sat up suddenly with a growl and Tony quickly slid off him to avoid being toppled to the floor.

“I’ve bought a house for us and the children in Switzerland and now you want to say never mind?”

“It’s not for us when you still intend to fight.” Tony found himself near shouting in response to the accusation. Wincing, he forcibly lowered his voice.

“Stefen, I’d leave with you in an instant but that’s not what you want. You want me in another country to wait while you fight, all the while wondering if you’ll ever come back. There is a damned big difference.”

“I don’t feel like discussing this again. You know why I have to fight and you know as well as I that the children need you.” Stefen groused, prowling back and forth like an animal in a cage. Stefen had closed off, Tony could see it in every line of his posture and hear it in his tone. The captain was in no mood to hear any more and so he wouldn’t no matter how much breath Tony wasted.

Tony’s smile was tight as he sighed, firing off one last parting shot of his own.

“And I suppose Captain Rogers always has his way?”

“Not as often as I’d like since a certain monk came into my life.” Stefen sighed, but his shoulders had relaxed. He had obviously realized that Tony had decided to let the matter rest for the time being and was grateful. Even if he wasn’t foolish enough to consider it settled completely because Tony would never have fallen in love with a stupid man.

Stefen pressed his lips to Tony’s once more in a hard kiss that felt one shade claim and the other plea, before he pulled away to look down at him. His fingers threaded through the hair curling at Tony’s nape, and Tony leaned into him.

“I’ll have my way in this.” Stefen murmured almost gently, before pressing a kiss to Tony’s brow. “Now no more. We’ve got to get clean and dressed or we’ll be late for dinner.”

Yes, Tony thought with an inward sigh. They wouldn’t want to be late to that damnable dinner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it through! A few things of note we want to point out:  
> 1\. There really was an early conspiracy in the German army to kill Hitler headed by Hans Oster. Captain America wasn't involved but this is an Avengers AU so of course he'd be knee deep in that mess. ;)  
> 2\. Steve has never received any sort of treatment for his PTSD because that's not a real thing yet but OMG does he need it. Also PTSD is a thing in children as well. Which Tony is no way trained to handle, regardless of his own personal issues with it. Hold onto your butts.
> 
> So there it is. Peter's tucked safely away at school, Ian's the man of the house, Tony's at home wringing his hands like a war bride and Steve is off to ~~punch~~ kill Hitler. How long do you think that's gonna last? Asking for a Steve.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Word index -
> 
>  **Prala:** Brother (Romany)
> 
>  **Pilots Salt:** Slang for the drug Pervitin, which was the early version of what we know today as crystal meth. * The Germans gave it to soldiers for its ability to keep them alert for days and lower their ability to feel pain. The side effects were many because meth.
> 
>  **Lt.** : abbreviation for Lieutenant.
> 
> Warnings in this chapter: reminder for period typical phobias, racism, derogatory speech, and sexism. And an additional warning for period typical uninformed drug use.

Steve really should have known better than to ignore his instincts. Tony had seemed so sure that the Navy had given up the idea of recruiting him, but Steve had damn well known better. He knew how armies worked and Stark Industries was too valuable and too heavily depended upon for the success of Plan Z for the matter to die so easily.

From the moment rumors of Plan Z had filtered down through the network, Steve had known they would come knocking. If the Führer was asking for the impossible, the only solution was to cast their hope on the name that had gotten famous for making the impossible possible.

The clock was ticking downward. It never stopped for Steve, and after dinner that night it was only ticking more insistently in the back of his mind. He’d tried to get ahead of the threat for that very reason, but no matter what he did it seemed he could never fully think ahead of Stark.

The evening had started out well enough. Steve had bathed in the luxury tub of their suite and even managed to get Tony warmed up enough after their argument to join him. He’d failed spectacularly to keep his hands and his thoughts strictly on the matter of washing off the day and any lingering evidence of sex.

Dreaming of having Tony here like this had been all that was keeping him going for weeks. It was too tempting not to touch his slick skin when touching him was all that made Steve feel grounded. When delving into the warmth of Tony’s mouth until his lungs screamed for air was somehow easier than struggling for a breath on his own.

It was overwhelming, but he was getting a better handle on it after he’d embarrassed himself their first time around. He wouldn’t falter like that again. Tony wouldn’t have to sooth him like a babe when he should be the one that Steve was taking care of.

That was the trouble really. Steve wanted to see Tony boneless and dazed with pleasure and not just the once, but always. Tony should always be so happy. Then he wouldn’t talk about cages and spying on the Nazis when there was no reason at all for him to put himself in danger. He would go with the children to Switzerland and wait for Steve, until either they’d successfully assassinated Hitler or Britain invaded. Whichever came first.

They would be happy together. For the first time in years Steve truly believed that it was possible. Tony would fill the house in Switzerland with as much love and music as Peggy had filled their home in Salzburg, and even when the memories got the best of Steve and he wasn’t strong enough not to get pulled back into the cold and the wet from his memories of war, Tony would be there. Once that darkness had felt insurmountable, but he had hope now that he could find his way back if Tony were there.

It was hard not to touch and harder still not to bruise by grasping too tightly.

They’d finally made it out of the bath and into their evening attire to be on their way. The dinner was being hosted at Carinhall, the country home of Hermann Göring. It was about an hours drive from the city. They had to hurry because it would have been in very bad taste to be late to one of Göring’s famously lavish gatherings. Göring, a prominent member of the Nazi Party and a close personal friend of the Führer, was not a man anybody could afford to insult.

Tony spent the drive sharing stories from his childhood and Steve was content to enjoy listening, throwing in the occasional anecdote about some escapade he’d had with Bucky just because of the way Tony’s face lit up anytime he started anything with ‘when I was a boy’. It was oddly thrilling to see the evidence of how much Tony truly cared. He wasn’t just out to share a bed together and nothing else.

With their driver taking the country roads at top speed they’d managed to make good time, arriving in the crush of state cars and gleaming automobiles that were trickling through the gates of the magnificent lodge.

Göring considered himself a man of high taste who liked to surround himself with all sorts of luxuries, and his private estate was no different. Built in the style of an alpine hunting lodge it sprawled like a fortress in the middle of the forest, guarded by bronze statues and iron gates.

Steve could see the appeal in the architecture but he found how it shouted to be looked at edging toward stupid. No thank you. He’d take the house he’d built with Peggy in Salzburg any day.

“Is Göring a very short man?” Tony had mused from the seat beside him as they were waved through the gates by a pair of S.S. officers and Steve had eyed him, frowning at the odd question.

“Not really. Why?”

“Oh.” Tony, instead of properly answering, had gone back to gawking at the great house lit up with lights and covered head to toe in bright red banners with swastikas, muttering in an aside way, “Perhaps he is short in other areas.”

A startled chuckle had burst out of Steve before he could stop it, and Tony’s smug smirk just made him want to chuckle all the harder despite the chance of being overheard by the driver.

Steve had once thought that someone who grew up in places equally as grand as this one would constantly be comparing the rest of the world to that sort of standard. Tony certainly seemed to enjoy his luxuries, but he wasn’t some puffed up little tick like Göring and he didn’t lose his head over meaningless trinkets and fashions.

It made it all the more enjoyable to watch him enjoy those things when they came. Steve would never forget the way Tony had looked walking off the train in that white suit, the ruby red vest catching every eye on the platform and the firm evenly muscled chest it clung to keeping them there. With his dark hair catching the afternoon sunlight and that unusual little beard of his perfectly framing his grinning mouth he’d looked exactly as he should be, a man of influence and ease. And far too handsome for his own good or Steve’s peace of mind as women craned their necks to see him and traded whispers with their friends behind their hands.

It had been a good choice.

The drab wardrobe Tony had brought from the abbey didn’t suit him and neither did the scholarly dregs he’d managed to create from the sensible bolts Virginia had acquired for him. Steve had instructed the shop girl to pick things someone like Thorson would like. Someone who took over a room as soon as they walked into it. A good choice he’d thought again with pride as he let his gaze wander over Tony in the coat and tails he’d chosen for the dinner party. The monk had forgone gloves, going with a more casual look but it did little to detract from the overall effect.

If anything Steve liked it more. It made Tony seem partly undressed and Steve couldn’t help but imagine getting him the rest of the way there. He’d start with the jacket. Nice as it was, it would be nicer to let the thing slide to the floor of the car and run his hands over the silk shirt beneath, feel Tony’s strong shoulders and the fluttering pulse in his neck.

“If you stare at me like that during dinner, you’ll land us both in trouble.” Tony murmured lowly, mindful of the driver, and Steve allowed himself one more moment to drink him in before dutifully moving his gaze somewhere else. Thankfully the car had reached the front steps of the main lodge and had slowed to a stop.

“And here I thought you liked trouble, Stark.” He’d teased as the driver came around to open doors for them. Tony had made a face at him as he’d exited the car, nodding his gratitude to the driver and the livered attendants who had stepped up to assist and guide them inside.

There was something about being with Tony that made Steve feel at ease, even in a pit of snakes like the ones crowding Hermann Göring’s famed gallery that evening. It was the natural choice Steve supposed for a party in honor of a lauded historian and archeologist, but Göring never let an opportunity to show off his collection go by so some of the shine was lost in his opinion.

But the Nazis weren’t really asking for his opinion, so Steve just did as his commanding officers expected him to do. He showed up in uniform and meandered around the room with Tony at his side, and tried to ignore that he was being presented like another piece in Göring’s collection as he was introduced to guest after guest as ‘the lion of Austria’ and exclaimed over.

Tony made it easier with his jokes and his side comments. They almost had their own little world, just the two of them, and for a time Steve even managed to convince himself that not even the Nazis could intrude on it.

But then the night had taken its turn.

It happened when Göring had searched them out through the crowd again, this time with the guest of honor and his entourage in tow.

“Major Rogers, I’d like you to meet Chief Researcher of the Ahnenerbe, Herr Dr. Anton Vonkov,” Göring had crowed, gesturing to the tall mustached man at his side whose physic belonged more to a wrestler in Steve’s opinion than to a researcher.

“Anton, I’d like you to meet – ”

“The lion of Austria.” Vonkov filled in eagerly, his beady eyes traveling up and down Steve’s body as if he wanted to strip him and go over every last inch of him with a magnifying glass.

“I was born in Austria myself Major Rogers. You’ve been a fascination of mine for many years and a subject of much study.”

The way Vankov said the word study set Steve’s nerves on edge.

“That’s kind.” He returned, and gestured toward Tony at his side. “May I introduce you to my good friend, Antony Stark?”

The way that Vonkov froze, as if he’d seen a ghost, and his lips curled in the hint of a snarl startled Steve, and clearly Göring as well.

“Antony.” Vonkov practically growled and Steve could feel the tension reverberating off of Tony, though the monk’s expression stayed politely placid as he returned Vonkov’s greeting stiffly.

“Herr Vonkov. How nice to see you again.”

“Ah… so you two have met?” Göring questioned, curious at the obvious animosity between the two men.

“It’s Dr. Vonkov, I’ll remind you, and yes. Antony was a pupil of mine, many years ago.” Vonkov informed their host succinctly and Steve shot Tony a surprised look. The monk had certainly never mentioned _that_. What was going on here?

“I mentioned, Hermann, that I knew the late Hughard Stark.” Vonkov explained and Hermann’s eyes widened, flying to Tony. Steve tensed, anticipating the coming of the very thing he was trying so hard to prevent.

He could see the calculation on his face, the barely suppressed greed as Göring asked, “My god, you aren’t Hughard Stark’s son are you? I didn’t-”

“Know what became of me?” Tony finished for him with false levity. “That’s what happens when you decide to devout your life behind abbey walls.”

“Tony’s recently come from the monastery.” Stefen explained, but it didn’t do much to clear up the confusion of their host or those close enough to hang on their every word.

“Yes, I’d heard your father sent you away. I wasn’t surprised. Sadly, despite such a promising sire, Antony was one of my worst pupils. Lazy, arrogant, and convinced he was far superior than he was.” Vonkov explained in a snide tone for the delight of their rapt audience and Steve clenched his fist, wanting to sock the man in his teeth. Tony for his part kept his expression polite as the man continued.

“I hope the monastery has helped you find a measure of humility?”

“Well Anton, I am a Stark. I’m not sure humility is in my blood.” Tony replied with a lazy grin and a titter went through the crowd in response. Tony’s arrogance had a unique way of charming people even though they should want to hit him. Steve should know.  Vonkov’s mouth puckered like he’d sucked on a lemon and there was such a gleam of rage in his eyes, that Stefen knew without a doubt he was one of the rare few who fell on the side of wanted to hurt rather than wanting to laugh.

There was some old wound between them, some grievance that festered like a sickness. Any excuse to lash out, Steve was sure Vonkov would take and that knowledge made him uneasy.

Thankfully Göring’s wife showed up at that moment to announce dinner and lead them all to the dining hall to take their seats. Steve grabbed Tony by the elbow and hung back until he was sure Göring and Vonkov were well out of ear shot.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Vonkov?” he whispered fiercely, trying to keep the tension off his face as the crowd continued to move past them, some watching them openly.

“I’m not in short shorts anymore Cap, I’m not afraid of a blowhard like Anton Vonkov.” Tony snarled viciously but Steve knew him better. There was a caginess about the way he was holding himself and looking anywhere but back at Steve.

“He wants to hurt you Tony. What happened between you two?”

“Nothing worth remembering.”

“Tony.” Stefen pressed, tightening his grip. Not enough to hurt but enough to impress upon him his seriousness and Tony frowned down at his hand.

“If you insist. I suppose you could say I got him fired. Or rather his temper did.” Tony explained. “I was a mouthy pupil.”

“Why am I not absolutely shocked by that?” Steve retorted with a frustrated sigh at the revelation. Tony had cost the man his job which meant Vonkov was carrying a grudge that had carried better and braver men off to war. Exactly what they needed.

Tony narrowed his eyes at him and shot back with a deceptive air of flippancy.

“Yes, well Vonkov decided the best way to teach me a lesson was to force soap down my throat and then to beat me bloody. Surprisingly my parents agreed with the family butler that he’d gone too far in his discipline.”

Shock rocketed through Steve at Tony’s cavalier attitude. Vonkov had beaten him? A rap or two across the knuckles in the school room was expected, but to make a child bleed?  

“They should have killed him,” Steve stated confidently. He’d have killed anyone who hurt one of his children in such a way without an ounce of regret. “What sort of man beats a child until he bleeds?”

“The kind that believes he can control his very small world and everyone else in it through violence.”

His stare was poignant. Though Tony didn’t glance down to where Steve was gripping him he didn’t need to. Steve released Tony’s flesh like it had burned him, the sick feeling churning in his gut nearly drowned out by the ache in his chest at the thought that Tony had just put him in the same class as an overgrown bully who beat on children, and couldn’t accept the consequences for his own actions. Tony didn’t really think that Steve would hurt him did he?

Then again, why wouldn’t he? He’d done it before.

Steve could never forget. The war he’d survived and the war he’d taken inside of him never let him forget that by his creed, Steve was not the inventor of solutions to obstacles but the mallet used to destroy their sources.

“That’s a scary face you’re making Captain.” Tony remarked. He’d reached out, so that he was now the one grasping Steve’s elbow, gentle touch enough to draw Steve out of the dark well his thoughts had fallen into.

Did Tony realize how often he scolded with the tongue and passed forgiveness with his palm? He was a priest holding condemnation in one hand and the keys to heaven in the other. Steve couldn’t have explained what that touch meant to him if he had all the words in the world at his disposal.

“You know you fooled me when we first met. I thought you were this perfectly starched stiff lipped model of respectability, but I have since figured out that under that uniform you’re delightfully as common as they come. I’m sure it’s tempting Love, but your superiors would not take kindly to you beating my former tutor to a pulp.” Tony whispered against his ear, lips lifting in half smirk, but there was wariness too in his gaze. Fear that Steve might do something he’d regret.

The concern there was enough to warm Steve from head to toe and banish all the doubts from a moment before. Somehow, even after seeing for himself what Steve was capable of, Tony didn’t fear him.

“He needs a proper beating,” Steve whispered back as they were guided to their seats. He took a deep breath and did his best to resume his calm, but he couldn’t resist adding, “Only a coward bullies a child.”

Steve had never liked bullies much and as the dinner rolled on it became very clear that Anton Vonkov was that and much more besides.

Though the conversation rolled its way through all the usual topics (the weather, the grandness of Germany, the Führer, the anti-nationalists and back again to the grandness of Germany and the Germanic peoples) Vonkov seemed determined to do two things by evenings end: humiliate Tony, and convince Steve that it was somehow in the best interest of everyone if he were to consider donating blood to the institute to help with their ongoing research.

“No one with any credibility can argue that the Germanic peoples were far superior to any other people group. The evidence is there, you just have to dig it up.” Vonkov was crowing at one point to a captive audience. Tony hummed thoughtfully around a mouthful of wine and Vonkov’s eyes had narrowed on him (again) and the man had sneered.

“You disagree Herr Stark?”

“It wasn’t I who was appointed Chief Researcher of German Ancestry.” Tony had answered, making it clear just how little he thought of that appointment. “I’m not the expert you are Vonkov. Perhaps that’s why I’m confused.”

“Indeed that’s likely.” Vonkov sneered in reply and Göring’s wife who was sitting on Steve’s left, quickly took a sip of her wine to cover her grin. Though Steve couldn’t have been more uncomfortable Tony seemed unfazed either by the looks or the spectacle he and Vonkov were providing for Göring and his guests. He sipped the wine in his cup delicately with a deeply thoughtful expression, like he was weighing something heavy in his mind.

“Having just come from Italy, perhaps you can explain it then, how it is that so many other great civilizations have thrived, often times over taking our own. Rome and her Italic allies for example.”

Vonkov’s face bled of all humor, his glare turning cold as Tony went on.

“They would be some of these sematic barbarians that you’ve described, and yet we can all recall the Cimbrian war and its aftermath. Come, I’m eager to hear it from an expert. How is it that these inferior people were able to conquer their rightful masters?”

Tony gestured with charismatic aplomb as he spoke, like a conductor leading an orchestra. Indeed, Göring and his crowd of sycophants and hangers on were soaking it all in, hanging on his every word.

Steve felt the flicker of a smile returning despite the tension and he looked down at his plate to concentrate on cutting his meat. He didn’t understand everything they were talking about, slinging around antiquated dates and names from history that all began to bleed together after awhile, but he didn’t have to be a learned man like Tony to know who the Romans were or what they’d accomplished.

“Thievery.” Vonkov snarled.

“Oh right. I forgot that everything of value ever produced is Germanic in origin and copied by others. How silly of me.” Tony drawled.

“Thievery and the intermingling of blood that should never have been mixed,” Vonkov continued as if Tony hadn’t even spoken. “The unfortunate truth that history proves is that we’ve weakened the blood. Allowed our culture and our accomplishments, as well as our lands, to be stolen out from under us by inferior people groups.”

“Woe is the day when men erect their vanities in the place of history,” Tony replied with a shake of his head and next to Steve, Göring’s wife gasped into her napkin. The smile slipped from Steve’s face. That had been too far. Almost a direct criticism of the Führer and everyone knew it. Damn it Tony needed to be more careful!

Steve clenched the knife he held in his hand as Tony boldly declared, “My father was as German as they come, and my mother Italian. I don’t consider myself unfortunate.”

“Ah but look at you.” Dr. Vonkov smiled across the table at Tony with all his teeth. “Here we are at the proudest moment in our history, ready to reclaim the glory that was once ours, and what have you contributed? Prayers.”

Steve watched Tony’s confident smile turn brittle. The lines around Vonkovs mouth set deeper in a look of such smug satisfaction Steve almost couldn’t stand it. It took everything he had not to open his mouth and he might have managed it, if Vonkov hadn’t leaned back in his chair all satisfied and declared for the whole hall to hear, “Hughard Stark was a great man, but he betrayed his blood and that was his greatest failure. I don’t think anyone can argue that his seed was wasted on an unsuitable bitch.”

Tony’s face went white, surprise making him unable to hide either his shock or the painful blow the words landed.

“That’s enough!” Steve’s hands landed against the surface of the table, rattling the dishes and the hall went deathly quiet as he pushed up from his seat.

Vonkov’s mouth had fallen open in a silent O of astonishment. Tension thrummed tightly throughout Steve’s body as he stared the man down and he saw a hint of fear behind his eyes. The table wasn’t so wide that Steve couldn’t reach him before he was stopped and Vonkov realized it.

“Major, you forget yourself.” He heard Göring’s immediate reprimand, but Steve didn’t take his eyes off of Vonkov long enough to gage the mood of their host. Göring wasn’t the threat here, Vonkov was. He wanted to hurt Tony and Steve wasn’t going to let him.

“No. It’s enough! Herr Stark is my friend and my guest. You insult him, you insult me!”

 “Now, now, there is no need for this. Vonkov. The Major is right. There are ladies present. You will apologize.” Göring scolded firmly, but he had the look of a satisfied bullfrog who had just slurped down the largest of flies.

Vonkov inclined his head toward their host in a show of repentance but it was all show.

“I meant no offense to you Major Rogers.”

“I think we all gathered it wasn’t Major Rogers you were attempting to offend.” Tony muttered reaching with one hand to grasp Steve and urge him back into his seat. Steve headed the gentle tug and sat, conceding to the wisdom in its insistence, but he didn’t fail to notice that same hand once more reaching for the glass of wine above Tony’s plate. Steve glared at the cup as Tony raised it to his lips once more and took a deep bracing swallow.  He needed to slow down.

“Believe it or not, Antony, I meant no particular offense to you either. You cannot help the conditions of your birth any more than any of us can. We’ve all been the victims of race mixing and the German people have paid the price in the quality of its offspring.” Vonkov lamented and a low murmur of agreement went around the table. Steve’s gut churned as Vonkov’s beady eyes fixed on him once more, a gleam of hunger in them.

“You’re a prime example Major Rogers, of what it truly means to be Aaryn. We could change the course of history forever if why we had a thousand more soldiers like you. If I had just a sample of your blood, I bet we could trace your lineage back for centuries.”

Tony snickered into his wine and Steve grit his teeth.

“I’d disappoint you.” Steve replied tersely and judgmental silence stretched over the hall once more. Göring stared coldly at him and Steve knew he’d pay for it later but he was past caring.

The way that Vonkov looked at him as if he wished to cut Steve open and examine his insides chilled him. He knew what the Nazi’s were doing over in Dachau and why they were doing it. Just thinking on the rumors he’d heard was enough to curdle the blood, but seeing again in his mind’s eye the gaunt faces of the twins he’d only barely managed to save from that nightmare. Steve wanted to take his knife to the man’s throat.

He had to settle for this small defiance. For now.

The rest of dinner passed in a subdued manner and Tony was quiet, favoring his drink over conversation. The drive home had been just as bad.

Steve should have known to expect something. When a man like Tony was quiet it could only mean that he was about to unleash some sort of chaos.

They’d made it back to their hotel room and Steve had closed the door firmly behind them. When Tony strode towards the bedroom like he was on a mission, Steve followed, feeling the beginnings of a fight coming on and resenting it when all he’d wanted since they’d left was to have Tony in his arms again.

“Are they experimenting on people?” Tony asked, part way through hauling open his trunks and rifling through them. Steve froze in the bedroom doorway.

“What did you say?”

“Did I not speak clearly?” Tony’s voice lilted upward in faux surprise. He was slurring only slightly despite a long night of drinking. He looked up, eyes a little too bright but still sharp, and stared directly at Steve with fire in them, repeating himself coldly.

“Are they experimenting on people? Trying to create _a thousand more like you_.”

Steve kept quiet. The anger was practically rolling off of Tony’s skin. He was spoiling for a fight, but Steve wasn’t keen on giving it to him. He wouldn’t be tricked into giving Tony information that would only endanger him.

“You must think I’m stupid.” Tony scoffed in disgust. “The twins had needle tracks on their arms. Wanda would wake the house screaming, babbling unimaginable things. And the way Vonkov talked tonight, about engineering a new master race. It all leads to one thing, and none of it surprised you.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid Tony.” Stefen refuted calmly, but his calmness just seemed to agitate Tony all the more.

“Then perhaps you think I’m a child?” he snapped in reply, finally finding whatever it was in his trunks he was looking for and closing it with a snap. As he came forward Steve saw he had an old journal in hand. The same one Steve often saw him scribbling in at home.

“I don’t think that either. Though your behavior right now tempts me to decide otherwise.”

“My behavior?” Tony’s eyes widened and he let out a startled sounding chuckle. “You sound like my father. Which would be funny, if I weren’t several years your senior and very much not interested in being one more of your children.”

Despite himself, Steve felt his temper fraying along with the hurt that sliced through him at Tony’s words.

“What else would you call this? Either you’re too drunk to know yourself Stark or you’re too childish to be grateful that I’m trying to protect you from dangerous men!”

“I know myself perfectly well. It’s you who is not listening.”

Tony strode the rest of the way across the room and thrust the journal toward Steve and Steve stared down at where it pressed against his chest, jaw ticking. He was tempted to slap the damn thing away and grab Tony by his lapels. Tony was standing so close Steve could smell the wine on his breath as well as feel his body heat. If Steve kissed him now he bet he could make Tony go weak at the knees again. The bed was right there, and once he had Tony in it, the reckless fool wouldn’t be able to talk anymore.

No more hurtful words and no more pointless arguments.

A better man maybe wouldn’t have wanted it at all, but Steve only held back because behind that fire in Tony’s eyes he saw hurt and the words kept ringing in his ears.

 _You’re not listening_.

Sighing, he took the journal from Tony’s hands. On the first page he found pages of script he couldn’t make sense of. Words and numbers that meant nothing to him in long complicated equations. But some of the pages had detailed drawings beside them. Elegant things that seemed to be fighting the constraints of their pages they were so grand in scope.  Designs for engines and bridges and towers, guns and tanks, cities and lights.

 “What is this?” he asked in awe as he flipped through the pages, eyes widening as he took in Tony’s work.

“Daydreams mostly. What I want you to see is in the back, behind the marker.” Tony answered and Steve gaped, because these were Tony’s _daydreams_? But he flipped dutifully to the pages behind the velvet ribbon as Tony had indicated. For a moment, his eyes raked over the page, taking it in.

More designs, this time concentrated on ships and naval weaponry. Long pages of notes on the construction of a battleship to be outfitted with some new type of torpedo that was giving them problems… Steve faltered. Wait a minute, these were notes, an engineer’s notes concerning ongoing work outfitting the German Navy!

“What is this?” Stefen demanded once more, but this time it was heavy with knowing.

“Plan Z. I see you already know about it.” Tony smiled at him to soften the teasing and Steve swallowed thickly. Hands almost shaking with shock. He was holding Plan Z. Hitler’s plans for the naval force were in his hands.

“That’s what they wanted to talk to me about.” Tony explained. The anger had disappeared, replaced by pride and a beautiful tremulous sort of hope that left Steve floundering.

“Stark Industries still holds the naval contract. Who else did you think was going to head that operation?”

“But how did you get these plans?” Steve wondered, fear jolting through him. God if Tony had stolen these, someone would have noticed. They’d figure it out and they’d kill him.

“Tony did you steal from the Naval Office?!”  he barked and Tony, infuriating asshole that he was, rolled his eyes heavenward.

“You steal from the Nazis. You don’t see me having a conniption about it. Relax Captain. They let me look at the file, which was their first mistake.” Tony tapped the side of his skull and shrugged with a smug smirk. “Strong memory.”

“You drew all this up from memory?” Stefen asked slowly, astounded. Tony had taken a single look at a file and been able to recall all of _this_?

Red inched up Tony’s neck and he shifted. He had no doubt it was because Steve was staring but he couldn’t seem to stop. This man was… Steve struggled to find the words for it, but wonderful came to mind. Tony was wonderful.

“Yes. It’s not everything but I can get more. I’d be at the heart of their operation.” Tony began to persuade and Steve sobered, blinking out of his daze.

Tony was talking again about going to work for the Germans, ostensibly to help with the resistance. He thought Steve was denying him because he didn’t believe in him, but he was completely wrong. Steve didn’t think he was a child, or only good to be shelfed somewhere. Tony was brave and brilliant and they could do far worse in terms of help. Hell, even just this much Tony had been able to recall could help turn the tides if Steve could get it into Britain’s hands. In truth, he couldn’t think of a better partner in this fight than Tony.

But Tony wasn’t a soldier. He didn’t have to see the horrors or face all the horrible parts of himself that war would bring out, and Steve didn’t _want_ him to. Not if he could help it, and as long as there was still a chance that he could, Steve was determined to keep him as far away from it as he could.

But Tony was who he was. That was what Steve had maybe been missing. Tony wasn’t meant for confinement. If Steve built a cage he’d only break out of it.

“You’ve shown no one else?” he asked, pulling his eyes away from the journal, and Tony rolled his own again at the question.

“I had thought to share them with the maids but there wasn’t time,” he drawled in response and Steve gave him a stern look.

“Don’t even joke about that,” he warned, snapping the journal closed. He took a step toward Tony, catching him by the collar and tugging him into the kiss he’d been aching for all night. Tony’s resistance if it was there at all was gone in a blink as he moaned and sank against him, his body fitting perfectly against Steve’s.

He still tasted faintly like the cream from desert, and wine, but also like himself. Just the way Steve remembered from earlier in the afternoon. Steve could spend all night exploring his mouth just like this, but Tony’s hips, rolling against his, sent sparks through his head, made something tight and urgent wind deep in his belly.

“You can’t… lock me up Captain. Spent too many years locked up already,” Tony pulled back just long enough to pant, before he surged forward again, gripping Steve’s head in both hands and taking his mouth hungrily like he was starved for it.

But the words were like water thrown over the fire raging in Steve’s blood. He heard Tony again in his mind, accusing him of sounding like his father, accusing him of not listening.

He thought about the boy Tony used to be, the one who’d cried alone fearing his feelings would condemn his only friend in the world. The one who’d stored all his big dreams in a journal, but who’d been told time and time again that he didn’t measure up. The one whose father had locked him behind great stone walls in order to save his life, and for whom two decades had passed by before he was free to dream again.

Steve pulled back, the barest inch, and Tony took a deep shaky breath, visibly fighting back the sudden prick of tears. Steve held him, cradling his head, sinking his hands into his soft dark hair and rubbing his scalp.

“I don't know if I have it in me to sit by. I know _you_ don't.” Tony whispered against his shoulder, hot breath penetrating through Steve’s shirt. Leaning back and smoothing out the wrinkles he’d made, Tony looked up at him.

“Do you really think we’re so different?"

It was becoming clear what he must do. Steve would never like it, but he didn’t have to.  He must offer Tony some way to engage his mind and his courage that wouldn’t put him in immediate danger, or he was going to lose him long before he was ready to.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever be ready to.

He caught Tony’s hands and held them tightly.

“I don’t think there are words enough to describe you Tony.” he answered, voice cracking with emotion. “You’re a good man, and I want your help. I _need_ it. But we’ll find a different way. If the Nazis ever get any idea of just how brilliant you actually are, you’d find yourself their prisoner and it would eventually be the death of you.”

And the death of Steve too, because he’d never let them have Tony.

Tony stared up at him, eyes still shining in the lamp light with unshed tears but he was listening. Truly hearing for once what Steve had so much trouble expressing, and most importantly, what Steve was willing to compromise if it meant his happiness.

“I don’t want to work for the damn Reich Stefen,” Tony huffed, a tremulous smile forming on his lips. “But I won’t live under their thumb anymore either. I want to fight them. Together. I want you to help me remove the shadow they’ve cast over us and to trust that we’ll be better men for it.”

 “Damn the Reich. We can damn them together. We can do whatever mad thing you want, Tony.” Steve promised vehemently, pulling him closer. “Just so long as you promise to trust me when I tell you something is too dangerous. Please. Let me take care of you.”

For a long moment Tony didn’t answer, just staring deeply into his eyes and breathing, making Steve feel as if he were standing naked before God waiting for eternal judgment. And then Tony’s nimble fingers found their way to the lapels of his jacket, pulling them apart and slowly sliding the garment off his shoulders.

Steve let the jacket fall around his arms, breath constricting in his chest as he watched Tony reach for his tie and slowly begin untying the knot. Once he’d managed to free him of that it was only moments before he had the silk shirt open and was pressing kisses against the flushed skin above the undershirt.

They were light little touches, barely anything to make a man’s limbs go weak and steal from him the strength to stand but Steve had to lock his knees just the same when Tony looked up at him through the dark fan of his eyelashes and murmured.

“I think I’d like that, Captain.”

Steve took hold of Tony’s hands again, grasping them by the wrists and placing them down by his sides firmly but gently. He removed Tony’s jacket and tie as quickly as his thick clumsy fingers allowed, and undid the buttons on his shirt. He let the articles of clothing fall to the floor at their feet without so much as a glance. Tony did turn his head to look at the pile they made, his mouth twisting in a small smirk.

“They’ll wrinkle. And after you spent so much money on them.”

He really had spent a shameful amount of money on the garments, Steve mused to himself as he soaked in the sight of Tony’s bare arms in the low light seeping in from the living room. It wasn’t like him.

“I’ll buy you others.” He managed to grunt as he grasped the hem of Tony’s undershirt and peeled off the offending barrier between them. He’d seen as much when they’d gone swimming, but it was somehow _more_ to see his chest bared like this. The fine hair dusting its way down his naval and disappearing into his slacks tantalizing in a way that made his mouth go dry, and Steve feel uncomfortably obscene.

“I like taking care of you,” he heard himself admit, dragging his hand down that inviting flesh. It was warm beneath his palm.

“I picked up on that.” Tony chuckled, but the sound aborted into a gasp as Steve’s fingers brushed against a nipple. It was different than Steve was used to, he thought, as he touched there again, rolled the nub gently between his fingers, but that shivery gasp coming out of Tony’s mouth was the same where it mattered. He liked the difference he decided. He wanted to know what else would be different and suddenly couldn’t wait a moment more to see all of Tony.

He abandoned his examination of Tony’s chest to get to the very urgent task of opening his slacks and Tony helped. But he’d barely kicked them away before he was pushing Steve back and tugging his jacket and shirt the rest of the way off. That was rather a good idea actually. Steve didn’t want any barriers between them when he laid Tony down upon that bed. Thank god for his presence of mind.

 They made love that night, much slower than the first time. They’d stripped each other in the dark of the hotel suite and lain in the bed, pressed skin to skin. Steve had touched every inch of him, feeling strangely that he would never truly know Tony until he’d kissed every inch of his body and memorized every line and scar. And he had to memorize them. There was no telling when they’d be together again after this trip.

Maybe it would be sooner, if they pulled the assassination off. Maybe it would be never if a bullet found him first.

Tony was beautiful in the throes of passion, and Steve had guessed right. When he was taken with pleasure, even that sharp mind of his slowed to a single focus. The fact that that focus was Steve only made it better, as that agile tongue of his littered curses and lifted Steve’s name up like it was an evening prayer. 

It was maddening in a way that Steve didn’t think he’d ever recover from. He’d never be able to look at Tony again and not picture the way his skin darkened from the grip of Steve’s fingers and the bruising of his mouth. Steve would never get his taste out of his memory he thought, licking over the dark mark his mouth had left on Tony’s neck, tasting the sweat on his skin.

Tony’s hips bucked beneath his again and his cock pressed against Steve’s. When Tony wriggled his hand between their bodies and took them both in hand, he saw spots and his chest constricted so tightly he couldn’t breathe.

“Tony.” That strangled voice in Steve’s ears must have belonged to him, but it was hard to hear over the violent pounding of his heart. Tony just kept kissing him and stroking his cock in rhythm with the movement of their hips and that pressure was building again inside of Steve. The one that begged for either death or release.

Death. Ha. He might be dying he thought wildly. They were going to discover him naked in his bed with another man and they’d all know how unclean he’d been. The disjointed thought inspired a huff of breathless laughter.

He’d be okay with that outcome.

Damn them all anyway, was the last thought Steve had before his vision went white as his body shook with release.

 

~*~*~*~

 

If Stefen had held any grand plans for how they’d spend the following day, free from any and all obligations, they seemed to have been cast out the window in favor of sleeping the morning away in Tony’s bed. They got a minor fright in the morning when the girl had come with breakfast, jerking them from their sleep. But thankfully the maids knew better than to enter without being bid entry.

Tony had slipped out of bed and picked up their trail of discarded clothes just the same, wanting to be careful as he opened the door in his dressing grown to retrieve the tray the maid had left by the door. There was hot coffee, warm rolls with marmalade, and a platter of cold cuts that looked appetizing, but after Tony’s (slight) over indulgence on the wine the night before it was the coffee that truly smelled like heaven.

They’d eaten together at the breakfast nook, or rather Tony had guzzled coffee while Stefen mostly read the letters Péter had written from school, while accepting bites of Tony’s food. When the captain had finally read and reread all of them he’d tucked them away in his trunks and asked how Tony had decided they should spend their free day.

“The opera tonight, it’s been so long since I’ve been I don’t even care what the show is.” Tony immediately replied with a telling amount of eagerness and Stefen smiled.

“I figured that would be high on your list. What else? We have hours before sundown.”

Tony licked his lips, nerves dancing in his stomach suddenly. Stefen had been saying for weeks that Tony could do or have whatever he liked, but Tony had just figured the man was desperate not to be alone at that ghastly dinner and would have said anything to get Tony to agree to make the trip. He might change his mind once he heard what Tony wanted to do to the spare sitting room.

“Fabels Metals has their headquarters in town. At least they used to. We used to buy all of our steel from Fabels.” Tony rambled. Stefen just stared at him, though it was with a quiet intensity that made him sure that Stefen was observing him very carefully.

“You want to visit a steel merchant.” The captain reiterated, and Tony nodded.

“More like I want to visit an old family friend.”

“An old friend of your Da, who you don’t talk about unless it’s to share some memory that makes me wish I knew how to beat the dead,’” Stefen returned with a pointed drawl and Tony was torn between scowling at his ill-timed perceptiveness or licking his lips because his gypsy was showing.

Tony had found that rough edged side of Stefen appealing from the first, but now that he knew how tightly Stefen clung to the protection of an officer’s polish and the trust he bestowed each time he let his guard down, it was doubly so. 

“Mind telling me what you need a shipment of steel for Stark?” the smug bastard smirked at him like he knew the effect he was having and the scowl won out.

“Well if you must know, since you’ve forbidden anyone to go near the perfectly good radio I built, I have a mind to transform the smaller sitting room into a workshop. For the children.”

“For the children?”

“Well for me, but the children will benefit from my improved temperament.”

“Is that all it takes to improve your temperament, a few hunks of steel?”

“That, a steel cutter, and a smooth-edged saw and I’ll be set for life. I promise.”

“Alright.” Stefen relented with an easy shrug.

“Alright?” Tony gaped at him, unsure if this was more teasing or if Stefen really had just said that.

“Yes, Tony, alright. But leave the sitting room alone. There are plenty of spare bedrooms out of the way so the children won’t be tempted to find trouble.  And I want you to hire someone to renovate it proper so it’s a real workspace. No use risking an accident or burning the house down because your working conditions weren’t right.”

Tony stared at the man for a long moment, but when Stefen just stared back, non-pulsed he set his cup down decidedly and rose from his chair. He sat himself on Stefen’s lap, his mouth curling into a smile at the way Stefen’s pupils widened and he seemed to hold his breath before Tony claimed his lips in a slow and _very_ thorough kiss.

Stefen tasted of the coffee and bites of sweet bread Tony had managed to feed him. He’d have to see that Stefen ate more at lunch he thought as he curled his tongue around Stefen’s and sucked. Tony felt the way his muscles clenched, and how the hard line of his cock pressed eagerly against Tony’s ass as Stefen groaned and leaned hungrily into the kiss.

Tony chuckled against his mouth.

He pulled away, but didn’t go far, content to watch the way the black of Stefen’s pupils swallowed the blue and soak in the sounds of his short quiet breathes and marvel at what a miraculous turn his life had taken.

“Grazie, mio Capitanio.” He murmured, gently pressing a far more chaste kiss against the captain’s cheek as he drank in the feel of his breath tickling over his skin and the hazy warmth in Stefen’s eyes, as his arms slid around Tony’s body and held him tight.

“I wasn’t too fast with you last evening, was I?” Tony inquired, wincing as he offered the only weak excuse available to him.

“I’m not my best when I drink. And here I had all these grand plans to show you the art of lovemaking.”

“Lovemaking? I’m not delicate Tony,” Stefen scoffed, and as if to make his point for him the rise and fall of his breath pushed the rigid evidence of his lingering desire against Tony’s ass. Warmth curled in Tony’s belly, his groin tightening, and he bit back a grin.

“No, you certainly don’t feel delicate, and good thing too. Lovemaking is not always a delicate business.”

“You’re the worst monk I’ve ever met.” Stefen chuckled lowly, breath hitching as Tony shifted purposefully in his lap. “And you’re a tease.”

 “You say that like you think my teasing is the greater sin.” Tony said, and when Stefen just gave him a frank look Tony laughed, the sound ringing out bright and clear in the sunlit room and his chest full with it.

“Right then,” he took mercy on his poor captain and abandoned his perfectly good seat.

“Fabels Metals, and then a little shopping. I promised to bring gifts back for the little monsters. Then I think I would like to come back and see if I can’t get their father naked again. If he’s agreeable.”

Stefen was very agreeable to that, so they’d washed and dressed (after a bit of kissing, because one did not simply sit themselves in a lover’s lap without causing a little delay) and then they’d set off to procure Tony’s much needed supplies and explore all that Berlin held in terms of department stores, which turned out to be a lot.

Stefen the giant hypocrite kept urging Tony not to buy anything too lavish and risk spoiling the children, but Tony mostly ignored him. The man enjoyed taking care of people and he equally enjoyed spoiling his children, albeit through Tony if he had to. And it wasn’t as if Tony hadn’t noticed how long they’d lingered at the bookshop. Tony wet in thinking that Stefen would be itching to go before Tony could get even half his fill of science and medical journals, but Tony had even managed to wander into the herbology section and Stefen was still poring over the titles on naval battles and pestering the shopkeeper with questions about whether he thought the thick tombs contained content appropriate for a child.

When their arms were full they’d loaded the trunk, and sent the driver back to the hotel with the idea of wandering to find lunch. Lunch found them in the form of a kart in the park that was selling smoked sausage and sauerkraut. They’d sat beneath the trees and chatted, Tony handing Stefen large chunks of his food, while observing all the young mothers with their prams and young people from the university with books under their arms; all of them enjoying the crisp fall air and the last echoes of summer warmth.

Tony shared with Stefen stories from his own school days, including the time when he’d snuck to a club one night and ran into one of his professors there, and Stefen listened avidly, laughing and despairing at Tony’s youthful antics. When they were full and had soaked up about as much of the sun as they could bear they began making their way back toward the hotel, via a less crowded avenue because Stefen declared he had one final stop to make.

Stefen led them to a small, cluttered looking shop with chipped paint that read Herr Tuck’s Essentials and Delights.

“Maria would love those dolls.”

Tony tugged Stefen to a stop just as he reached the door, pointing to the window where a row of painted dolls in brightly colored frocks were looking out. Along with the delicate porcelain dolls on display were all sorts of baubles and odds and ends. A set of leather banded watches sat next to display of coral beads the same red as Tony’s vest and beside them a whole selection of multicolored neck-ties.

But what caught Tony’s attention was the small stack of books and magazines closest to the edge, near the door. Standing up on a stack of aged looking tombs was one with a dark blue cover engraved in bold script.

“Vernon L. Kellogg’s, Elementary Zoology. Artur would go mad for that!” Tony exclaimed pointing.

“He’s seven.” Stefen reminded, one brow raising incredulously. “That textbook is nearly bigger than he is. Is there anything more suitable for a child?”

Tony glanced over the books but they were all clearly meant for adults. He glanced through the magazines and lighter journals to see what was on offer there. Nothing in the field of Zoology unfortunately, but there was one near the bottom of the stack, it’s title partly obscured but just enough of it visible for Tony to make out the beginning of the word adventure that caught his eye.

“It looks like there isn’t, but we should get it for him anyway.” Tony answered distractedly, wondering if that magazine wasn’t the famed Captain Adventure Bethany had talked about. “Children need challenge captain. He’ll grow into the material.”

“Would you believe that I was looking forward to the day my son grew out of dragging strange critters into the house?” Stefen sighed, pulling open the door and Tony followed him, chuckling, as they entered the shop.

A short man with curling hair was behind the counter, he looked up at the tinkle of the bell when they entered, and his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Captain Rogers!” He greeted with a wide grin and the smile that Stefen returned was warm and sincere.

“Pip. You don’t look as if you’ve aged a single day since the last time I saw you.”

While Stefen went to handle whatever his business was, Tony headed immediately for the bookshelf in the corner where books and magazines were for sale, searching carefully through their titles and covers but not finding another copy of the one in the window.

Had it been something else? Tony glanced back toward the window where Stefen was now standing with Herr Tuck, perhaps looking over the dolls. He could always go and fish out the one on display but then he’d have to explain that he was searching for a dime magazine because he’d been told once that he looked like the hero, and how ridiculous would that look?

“Can I help you?” A woman had appeared at his side causing Tony to jump. Judging by her expectant look and homespun apron, the plump woman with the slight cleft in her chin must be the owner’s wife.

“I’m looking for a title I saw in the window. Captain Adventure.” Tony explained, grateful for the woman’s assistance.

“Captain Adventure? I’m afraid that title is available by subscription only, and the list is currently closed. I tried to bury it so people would not ask for it.” The woman responded with a strange air of reluctance. But then her blue eyes narrowed on Tony in consideration and Tony had to resist the urge to squirm.

“Funny, but you look a bit like him.”

Tony really must have a look at these stories.

“I’ve heard that,” he replied with a sigh of his own. “That’s why I wanted to have a look. Subscription only you say. Is it really as fancy as all that?”

“It is a niche magazine but it has a strong following. I can have Pip take down your information if you’d like to be put on the waiting list for when subscriptions open up?”

She looked toward Stefen and the owner and Tony hastily shook his head.

“No no, don’t bother. He looks busy and it’s not all that pressing. I’d never even heard of it before yesterday.”

“It’s a series of short stories about the life of an adventurer and his brother. They travel all over the world looking for ancient artifacts, battling barbarians, wooing pretty women and the like. The stories could be better in my opinion but the artwork is so thrilling it makes up for it.”

“So I have heard.” Tony responded politely. If he was honest, Captain Adventure sounded like just the sort of brainless drivel he usually liked to avoid.

“Are you ready to go?” Stefen asked, appearing at Tony’s side with Artur’s book and a small wrapped parcel in hand and Tony wondered briefly at it. Another gift for the children perhaps, though it was too small to be a doll for Maria.

“Yes, if we’re to sneak a nap in before the opera tonight then we’d better get on with it.” Tony answered, smirking as Stefen’s fingers clutched his parcel all the tighter. He knew as much as Tony did what would happen as soon as they were back in the privacy of their suite.

“Right.” Stefen nodded briskly, turning slightly toward the plump shopkeeper’s wife. “Mary, it was very good to see you again. Give my best to Friedrich.”

“Of course, Captain. Godspeed.” The sober way in which Mary Tuck wished them farewell took Tony off-guard. Stefen obviously knew her well, and Pip too (whatever kind of name that was) and whoever this Friedrich was. They hadn’t gone into the shop on just a whim, he realized. Stefen had gone there with a purpose.

Tony thought about it the entire journey back to the motel, and by thought, he meant stewed. His good mood had soured. Stefen had promised not to keep him in the dark and to allow Tony to help when he could but it was obvious he had not meant it. Had those just been lies, lover’s words to placate him? Was Stefen under the impression that Tony was his _wife,_ some empty-headed creature he could distract with passionate kisses and meaningless trinkets, and when that failed he could simply bark into submission?

Ha! Tony should hope not. He knew for a fact that the captain’s actual wife had never put up with that, and Tony wasn’t about to start anytime soon either.

Perhaps, some snide voice in the back of his mind poked at his conscience, perhaps Stefen kept secrets because Tony kept secrets.

Only the one! And it wasn’t as if Tony’s secret were some small thing without much consequence attached.

Tony was practically stomping by the time they entered their rooms, gearing up to give the man a piece of his mind. Stefen for his part looked completely relaxed. Amused even.

“I suppose you think you’re very slick, and that I wouldn’t catch on to what happened back there.” Tony grumbled, shrugging out of his jacket and slinging it onto the couch where the staff had stacked the boxes and bags they’d sent ahead.

“What do you think happened back there Tony?” Stefen asked innocently with a cock of his head but Tony wasn’t fooled. And the bastard had no right to look as fine as he did, leaning there against the door.

“You mean when the shopkeepers all but saluted you?” Tony scoffed. “You were there, doing something for the resistance effort. Picking up that parcel in your hand I imagine.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. But it wasn’t the parcel I went for.” Stefen pushed away from the door and reached into his jacket without further ado and Tony blinked in surprise.

That was it? Stefen was going to show him that easy?

Stefen extended the small scrap of card he held which Tony could see held faint writing scribbled in pen. He took it from Stefen gingerly, feeling left footed but curious.

The name F. Banks was written on the card along with a date and time and what it took Tony a moment to realize was digits for a radio frequency. Who was F.Banks? Friedrich Banks, maybe? Tony looked up from the card to Stefen in anticipation.

“How’s your English?” Stefen asked, and a grin overtook Tony’s mouth.

“Impeccable.”

“Good. There’s going to be a broadcast on that date and time. Will the radio you built be able to pick it up?” Stefen asked and Tony was nodding almost before he was finished speaking.

“Yes.”

 If they were broadcasting from a major station it wouldn’t be much of a problem, but anything weaker and Tony wasn’t certain. But he could mitigate that with a strong antenna.

Stefen’s brow wrinkled in a slight frown.

“That might get noticed, Tony. You need to be careful.”

Tony hadn’t meant to say that last bit out loud, but such was his conviction to do the thing right.

“I can cannibalize most of the parts I need and build it in the attic. I can design it to be unobtrusive.” Tony assured him, his heart pumping hard with the thrill of newfound purpose. His thoughts were racing because in truth, he had no idea how he was going to accomplish that but he wasn’t about to back down from the challenge.

 “And you’re sure you’ll be able to send a message back?” Stefen asked, still looking hesitant but Tony heard the underlining urgency in his tone. “There is an important operation underway, something that could stop all this and prevent us having to go to war. My team must have a faster way to receive alerts from our contacts in British Intelligence.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot up at the revelation. The Führer was currently attempting peace talks with the leaders of England and France, but they were going about as well as everybody had expected them too (which was to say terribly). Hitler had no interest in peace, and still had his eye firmly on bringing home the ethnic Germans inhabiting the border lands of Czechoslovakia. The arrogant ass had no intention of hearing no. Everybody expected there to be an announcement of war within the damn week, but Stefen thought they could avoid it and he was whispering with British intelligence?

“My God, what have you gotten yourself into?” Tony asked, already knowing Stefen would consider this one of the things too dangerous for him to know and frustrated by it.

As he’d expected, Stefen ignored the question altogether in favor of further instruction.

“You’ll have a code book and I’ll arrange for a runner to come for the messages you’ve transcribed. Be sure before you agree. It’ll be dangerous, putting your voice out there. If the Germans ever intercept a broadcast they will be looking for you.”

“I’ll definitely need that antenna, but I’ll get it working Captain.” Tony promised. He couldn’t say that he wasn’t afraid. There was a part of him that very much was. But if Stefen was working directly with British intelligence something very big must be going on. He must feel they had a genuine chance of avoiding war and for that Tony was glad to take the risk.

“You can count on me.” The vehemence in his own voice took him by slight surprise.

Stefen stared back at him for a moment, fondness creeping into his tone as he murmured that he’d never doubted it for a second; but it couldn’t completely smooth away the worry in his eyes. Best to assist him with that, Tony decided. He’d read often that good deeds must be rewarded, and the Captain had been nothing if not good to him these last few days.

“Lies.” Tony smirked. “But as they are very sweet ones I’ll let them pass this once.”

Tony carefully set the card on the side table near the couch. Turning back to Stefen he dragged his eyes slowly up and down the man’s form, from head to toe and when he met his gaze again he was gratified to see the flame of desire lit there once more.

“You said something earlier about unwrapping.” Stefen reminded him in a warm timbre and Tony stepped closer.

Yes. Yes he had.

~*~

_Tony,_

_I was so sorry to hear that the subscription list for Captain Adventure is closed. They must be very popular! I suspect it is the artwork. It truly is stunning, so much so that one feels as if the characters were going to leap off the page. I’m forwarding you the first issue. Daddy won’t miss it and we can consider it repayment for the delicious coco you bought me._

_Fondly,_

_Bethany McCabe._

 

~*~

Two days was not long enough to get to hold Stefen or have a chance to impart the depths of his feelings. There weren’t words for it, though love came terrifyingly close. But Tony couldn’t stand before Captain Rogers, or Major Rogers rather, of His Excellencies Army, and confess to be in love with him, though it was painfully obvious that he must be.

He must be, to take the risks he was taking, to throw away his opportunities for escape from the reach of the German’s, to look after the man’s children (not to mention the man himself). To put a target on his back by ferreting messages between him and the British over the radio he’d built to impress him.

Tony could admit that, but only in the privacy of his mind in the dark of the attic while he worked. The supplies had come only a day or so after he’d returned home, and he could only cringe at what Stefen must have paid to arrange that. His mission must truly be vital then, and Tony was determined not only to meet Stefen’s expectations but to exceed them.

The challenge was to create an antenna powerful enough to broadcast waves at high enough frequency to reach London, but on a miniature scale. Funnily enough it was the miniature part that was the most challenging aspect of the whole ordeal. That and he could only work at night after most of the staff had gone and the children put to bed, so he was stuck with working under lamp light and straining his eyes.

But Tony kept working, a clock ticking down in the back of his mind, determined not to miss the deadline. And in the quiet moments of his day when he no longer had the work to focus on or the children to distract him, he thought about how two days might as well be a raindrop in the pool of time.

He thought about the way Stefen had woken him that last morning in Berlin, the way his hands had stroked over Tony’s skin like one might luxuriate over silk. He thought about the weight of Stefen’s gaze as he’d watched while he thought that Tony continued to sleep, and the blink of surprise he’d made when Tony had suddenly opened his eyes and informed him how unsettling it was to wake under such intense scrutiny.

Stefen hadn’t moved his hand or even looked away, only said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you this way again.”

And Tony had known then, that whatever was going on was bigger than he could possibly imagine. There was life and death hanging in the balance and any little change in the wind could mean something unimaginable.

Tony forced his thoughts to clear and focused on his work. The work was delicate and it needed his full concentration. His _everything_. He’d give it, because Stefen was depending on it.

When the morning of the twenty third arrived, Tony rose from his bed early, barely having slept and crept up to the attic to run one more test.

He ran into Hammer not far from the attic steps on his way down to breakfast and felt unease about it most of the morning. Had the Butler just been passing by or lurking about? Pepper had the only key, which she’d given to Tony, so he wasn’t worried Hammer would venture up there while he was away, but he wouldn’t put it past Hammer to listen at keyholes.

It was hard for Tony to concentrate on the children’s lessons that day, or not to worry that he’d not heard anything more about the runner who was supposed to collect tonight’s message. Stefen had said only that he would meet Tony at midnight in the garden, though how Stefen expected a man to sneak into their garden in the dead of night Tony didn’t know.

The day dragged on but the sun finally did set and when the hour approached Tony crept back up to the attic and prayed that his unconventional feat of engineering wasn’t going to backfire on him now.

For a few heart pounding moments as Tony adjusted the dials all he heard was dead air and an occasional burst of static as he searched for the right channel.

“Come on. Come on damn you.” Tony cursed under his breath, his hands beginning to shake.

And then.

“Good evening,” a friendly sounding voice chirped in English with a slight crackle of interference at the end. “This is Freddie at the Castle, reaching out to our kin at the inn.”

Tony’s face cracked in a jubilant grin, his heart pounding as relief rushed through him in a dizzying swell, before he remembered to scrabble for the pen and pad he’d kept ready in wait and scribbled down everything he’d just heard.  The broadcast was short and to the point, repeated once and then cut out.

And that was it. Over and done in a minute.

But as Tony opened his journal to find the list of code words Stefen had given him before he’d left Berlin and began to untangle the message in order to prepare his reply, it began to sink in just how serious the nature of this communication was.

It was as he’d suspected.

Germany was sick. They were talking about a funeral and a moving shipment of weapons.

The Führer was Germany and Germany was sick.

“Good God... Good God Stefen what are you doing?” Tony’s mutter echoed into the still attic.

But he could see now why Stefen always acted so strangely torn, like a man with one foot in the grave and one without. If this worked it would all be over. With Hitler gone they could turn back the threat of war and heal the scars he’d gauged into the nation.

They’d all be free. Stefen could leave his post and come home. They could stay in the house in Salzburg or they could all go together to the house in Switzerland and leave these troubles behind them.

But only if it worked.

If it didn’t (and there was so much, so much, that could go wrong) at best, they would incite the very war they were desperate to stop. And that was the very least of the consequences.

Tony’s thoughts churned round and around in his head all the way down to the kitchen. He made himself a cup of espresso which he barely touched, his thoughts too heavy with worry as he sat in wait for the runner.

At worst, Stefen could be killed in the attempt or found out and then killed, Tony thought, stirring the dark brew in his cup and staring into its depths.

Was the death of one man truly worse than all the lives they would lose in Hitler’s war? Tony scoffed at himself. He already knew the answer. He’d always been a shallow selfish creature at heart.

Two days was not nearly long enough to show someone the depth of love a human heart could hold for them.

He should have loved the man until he couldn’t stand to get out of bed. Next time… if he got a next time, Tony promised himself that he would.

The hour of midnight finally arrived. There was no knock on the back door, so Tony clutching the letter he’d prepared in hand, opened it and stepped out into the back garden. Looking out over the expansive grounds and the iron fence wrapping around the side of the house, it all looked as still and beautiful in the moonlight as ever, but of course there was nobody in sight.

“Hi Tony.”

 It was a good thing Tony’s first instinct was to bite his tongue and muffle the near scream of fright that startled out of him or else he was likely to have woken the entire household as a body dropped down from the balcony above with the skill of an acrobat.

“Christ in heaven!” Tony cursed, tasting blood in his mouth from where he’d bit his tongue and turning to spit in the dirt beside the door before turning back to hiss in demand at the boy who’d just literally dropped in on him. “Clinton, you imp. What the hell are you doing here at this time of night?!”

It was hard to see in the dark but Tony would recognize that accent and that cocky attitude anywhere. Though the boy had shot up a few inches since they’d last seen each other, and looked to have procured a haircut. It was a wonder Bruce had been able to pin him down long enough.

“Brother Filip left after you did. Turns out he was only there to get in touch with the Vatican but now he’s needed more on the outside. The Abbot still lets me help him so long as I come back in one piece.” Clint explained with a bored shrug and Tony blinked in surprise. Well, he was more surprised at his surprise really. He’d always suspected Farkas was running an order of spies under those priestly robes and Coulson had always been his right hand.

“You’re the runner?”  Tony guessed with a frown of worry. Clinton was still a child, but the Nazis wouldn’t hesitate to harm him.

Clint nodded and Tony handed him the letter which quickly disappeared somewhere on the boy’s person.

“Be careful. It’s not a game you know. It’s dangerous.” Tony warned.

“I figure it’s just as dangerous not to Tony,” the boy replied with an easy shrug. “I can take care of myself. I ain never been seen by nobody I didn’t want to see me. Cept that girl of yours. How is she?”

“Natacha is doing well.” Tony replied stiffly as Clint’s grin widened and he arched his neck to stare up at the upstairs windows.

“Which room is- ”

“Get out of here, go on.” Tony barked stepping threateningly toward him and Clinton danced away, his familiar chuckle rumbling with an unfamiliar deepness as he disappeared into the dark.

He was growing up, god help them all.

If you’re up there God, Tony prayed silently long after he’d lost any sign of the boy’s movements. Watch over him.

Clinton deserved a chance to grow up.

 

*~*~*

 

**Broadcast from BBC, Broadcasting House**

Broadcast date September 23rd 1938 9:00 PM

On Air: F. Banks

Transcribed by W. Holmes

Good evening! This is Freddie at the Castle, reaching out to our kin at the INN. Auntie’s condition worsens. Funeral arrangements have been made. Flowers will need picking up at the High St. shop. Wendy arrives on the 25th.

The Castle repeats.

This is Freddie broadcasting live from the Castle, reaching out to our kin at the INN. Auntie’s condition worsens. Funeral arrangements have been made. Flowers will need picking up at the High St. shop. Wendy arrives on the 25th.

 

**Broadcast from UKNOWN STATION**

Received date September 23rd 9:15 PM

On Air: KNIGHT

Transcribed by W. Holmes

This is the KNIGHT at the INN, requesting that the CASTLE say hello to Wendy.

The INN repeats.

This is the KNIGHT at the INN, requesting that the CASTLE say hello to Wendy.

 

**Broadcast from UKNOWN STATION**

Received date September 25th 9:00 PM

On Air: KNIGHT

Transcribed by W. Holmes

This is the KNIGHT at the INN, reaching out to our friends at the CASTLE letting them know that Auntie is in our prayers. Nephew will get the flowers. What is Wendy’s schedule?

The INN repeats.

This is the KNIGHT, broadcasting from the INN, reaching out to our friends at the CASTLE letting them know that Auntie is in our prayers. Nephew will get the flowers. What is Wendy’s schedule?

**Broadcast from BBC, Broadcasting House**

Broadcast date September 25th1938 9:25 PM

On Air: F. Banks

Transcribed by W. Holmes

This is Freddie at the Castle, reaching out to the INN. Wendy is home alone.

The Castle repeats.

This is Freddie Banks at the Castle, reaching out to the INN. Wendy is home alone.

 

*~*~*

_Berlin, Germany, September 23 rd 2:00 AM_

It was the dead of night when an armored truck rolled to a stop outside an unassuming apartment building in the city of Berlin. Steve was crouched in the back with fifteen other men, ammunition and gear rattling against his legs. He had a small velvet bag open in one palm, the beads he’d purchased at Pippen’s shop what felt like years ago now rattling softly as Steve and the others were jostled by the movement of the truck. He rolled one of the beads between his fingers fitfully, marveling at the unusually deep red of the coral.   

A call rang out in the stillness and then a pair of boots thudded loudly as someone marched toward them on the empty street. Steve tensed, dropping the single bead and pocketing the pouch. He ordered the men to be ready with a raise of his hand, but the group of men huddled in the back of the covered truck with him barely needed it. Around him hands clutched rifles tighter to chests and fingers rested ready, the lot of them hardly daring to breathe.

There would only be one or two local policemen. The evening patrol was light that night, prearranged by their man at the department of police. They’d not wanted to draw too much attention by leaving the area unassigned for too long in case someone came asking questions later.  Any brief laps in security could be explained away as poor planning or the result of a lack of men.

Steve strained his ears to listen as boots walked alongside the truck and knuckles pounded smartly on the driver’s side.

Bucky was driving up front with Lt. Becker because his face was less recognizable than Steve’s. Up front Becker’s calm voice could be heard calling out a greeting. Steve's shoulders tensed further as a voice laced with suspicion barked to know what their business was. There was a rustle of papers as Becker handed over the documents Coulson had drawn up for them.

“We’re undergoing a training drill.” Steve heard Bucky explain and when he was asked where his orders had come from Becker jumped in, repeating himself, this time with a trace of irritability in his words as he informed the officer that their orders came from the Chief of Police.

A door opened, and a second pair of boots confidently thudded against the pavement and then the back door was lifted, light from the street lamps spilling in revealing Lt. Becker standing at the mouth of the door. He gestured sharply for the men to begin unloading and they snapped to work, with the single-minded routine of a squad, ignoring the presence of the policeman. Steve jumped out with the others, doing his best to stay lost in the group while keeping an eye pinned on the policeman who was on his radio, no doubt validating their story with his superiors.

Becker had enough presence of mind to keep the men moving, barking orders until all of their gear had been unloaded from the truck and the men were in formation. Steve tugged the bill of his cap down further over his face and snapped the shoulder strap of his weapon over his shoulder. It had the desired effect of keeping the officer on sentry in his line of sight. If anything had gone wrong with the plan they’d have to be ready to defend themselves, but they must give the appearance that they expected no trouble.

There was a metaphorical release of breath when the officer, apparently placated by the word trickling down from command, nodded apologetically to Becker and wished God to be with them in their efforts to protect the Führer.

Bucky caught his eye, but Steve only really relaxed when the policeman’s boots had carried him down the street and away from the door of number three Hügel street. When the street was clear once more, the small side door at the base of the building opened, and a man who matched the description he’d been given for Ben Grimm – square jawed with sun roughened features and medium brown hair – stepped out.

“Wasn’t expecting you till morning.” Grimm gruffly barked, giving the signal that he was infact the man they were waiting for and things were good to proceed.

“Morning starts after the stroke of midnight.” Steve returned the expected pass phrase as Lt. Becker gestured for the men to fall out of line. Three of them formed an assembly line. Steve jumped back into the van and handed out the gear that would have raised the policeman’s suspicions, as it was unmistakably more fit for full assault than it was a reinforcement of guards. 

Between them all they were able to unload quickly and make their way inside the building, where Herr Grimm led them up a narrow stairway and into a tiny apartment. As they walked, Herr Grimm explained in a few muttered breaths that the building was mostly deserted.

“The apartments are simple, so don’t expect nothin fancy but they’re clean. I’ve had my girl Alise in here cleaning nonstop since the police gutted the place. The Jews tried to hide their valuables in the pipes, thinking they was going to come back for em. You believe that? Poor bastards. Had to lower the damn rents due to the backed-up plumbing.”

Unfortunately, Herr Grimm had not exaggerated the disrepair the building had fallen into since its Jewish residents had been evicted but it had the connivance of being a street block away from the square, with a partial view of the newly renovated chancellery building.

The apartment itself was small, containing just a single bedroom, a living room mostly void of furnishings besides what couldn’t be carried out the front door, a kitchen and a toiletry. It was going to be cramped for fifteen people, but they would make do.

Stepping into the middle of the living room Steve unslung the two weapons over his shoulder and handed one to Bucky. He stood in the center of the room watching as the rest of the men filed in, setting up camp. There was dead silence save for the thudding of boot heels and scraping of trunks on the floorboards.

“What have the remaining residents been told?” Steve asked Grimm as the man handed him a set of keys to their door as well as the side door downstairs.

“I told em what the army told me, that they were repossessing some of my apartments for military use and I wasn’t dumb enough to ask questions.” Grimm grunted in reply, the premature frown lines around his mouth deepening. That was good, but they’d still need to be careful. There was always danger still if some concerned resident of the building brought too much attention to their presence there.

“Show me the other three units.” Steve instructed, and Herr Grimm nodded, gesturing for Steve to follow as he led him to the living room window. It looked out over the square which meant it had a clear view of the surrounding apartment buildings, all of which Grimm managed. Once Steve had received the go ahead from the Abwehr and the official command had reached Schmidt that his public tour would have to wait for Steve to take on a highly classified military operation, Steve had divided his team into five units and over the past week one by one they’d been snuck into the apartments surrounding the chancellery. 

Grimm handed him a small piece of paper with the floor and room numbers where the other units were lying in wait, and Steve called for a torch which one of the men quickly supplied. Shining the powerful light outside the window he quickly powered it on and off, using standard Morse Code to announce their unit and their status. All well.

A moment or so after he had finished, just long enough that anyone patrolling about on the street at this late hour who had caught the brief flashes, would have given up on a response, a light appeared in the apartment adjacent where Dvořák was leading Third Unit. It was followed in steady procession by a light from Fourth. According to Grimm’s instructions, First and Second both had windows visible from the bedroom.

“I’ve got to get home.” Grimm grunted from beside him. “I’m sorry but you’re on your own from here Captain. It’s too dangerous for me to involve my family any further.”

Steve nodded, understanding, and gripped the man’s shoulder tightly in thanks before releasing him. When Grimm had left and they were all assembled in the middle of the room looking to him for instruction, Steve leveled them all with a look and said simply, "before we go further, I wanted to say thank you." 

That done, and not one to mince words, Steve turned to Lt. Becker and commanded, "Take your squad and move out."

Becker nodded and grabbed one of the duffle bags, five of the men following him to patrol the nearby streets and keep up the ruse of a training operation underway. Another squad would keep watch on their exits, monitoring everyone who came and went out of the building. The remaining five would stay here in the apartment, keeping watch from the windows. They would rotate squads when necessary to keep the men fresh.

Steve glanced out the window once more, at the German Chancellery rising high above the rest. It was empty now, save for a small guard of only eighteen S.S. soldiers. The bulk of Hitler’s elite fighting force was on the Czechoslovakian border, which was the entire reason for his absence from Berlin.

The Führer was meeting with the leaders of France, Britain and Italy to discuss his aggressive actions against the Czechs in the city of Munich that very evening. They hoped to strong arm him into backing down from the idea of reclaiming the border lands for Germany and to negotiate some sort of resolution for continued peace. It was a peace everyone knew they would never achieve. Hitler refused to back down no matter who advised him it was the wisest course, and there would have to be war as a result. Until then, it was a waiting game. It was the waiting that was the worst part. Always was.

But when Hitler returned from Munich with his brand new war on his pocket it would be to a light guard. With the leaders in his army turned against him and his private police too far to help him, Steve was confident that with a force of seventy-five fighting fit he could take the chancellery and take the Führer into custody.

Oster had secured the promise of the Army Chief that more units would be sent in order to hold the capital while they held their hostage and the generals encouraged the Führer to sign a letter of resignation as head of the Abwehr and as Germany’s fearless leader.

Steve’s squad was the one left in the living room, and as Bucky and the others got themselves settled Steve took the first rotation by the window. He sat on the ledge staring out over at the half view of the chancellery. Its long white brick walls standing out against the browns and reds of the other buildings, casting a shadow over everything even from a distance.

The Generals wanted the Führer kept alive, and to make a public show of his trail.  They said it was the only way to ensure that the public did not revolt. Hitler was not without love here in Germany after all. They were confident though that the people’s desire to avoid war would prove stronger than their loyalty to a fallen Emperor, but privately Steve didn’t think it would be that easy. Hitler would not go quiet and he was too dangerous to keep alive. A fight was a fight. Stray bullets killed men all the time.

Soon this would be over. Only, Steve had spent so long focused on the one man he had never had time to stop and think about what came after. Once they’d killed the Führer, one way or another, then what? Would another mad man step into power? There seemed to be no shortage of them these days: Mussolini, Stalin, Himmler, Striker. Cut one head off, would three more spring up in its place?

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, thinking this was a fight that would ever end.

-

_5 hours in._

The sun had risen, and people were moving about on the street below, another day in the great city of Berlin beginning as it had to. People had to keep going, didn’t they? No matter what was happening around them. Steve turned from the window to look at Bucky who was sat back to back with Zimmerman. Both had their arms crossed over their chests and aside for Zimmerman's deeper breathing brought on by a light sleep, they were mirror images of each other. 

Bucky looked back at him, his eyes squinting in the early morning light.

"What do we have to eat? I'm starving," he croaked, voice horse from hours of quiet.

Steve nudged the unopened duffle bag he knew contained food with his boot and raised his eyebrow in invitation to have at whatever was in the bag.  Bucky reached, grabbing the bag by its strap and pulling it toward him. A few of the other soldier's eyes fallowed Bucky’s progress but their owners stayed where they were.

They were all heavy with bottled adrenaline, like snakes sunning themselves on a rock, slow calculated but every bit ready and dangerous. Bucky reached into the duffle and made a face at the sight of the canned food it held.

"Is this it? God, tell me one of these bastards thought to bring better food.”

“Someone is coming with supper. This is all we’ve got in-between.” Steve announced for the benefit of all of those listening, ignoring the groans he got in response. One meal a day wouldn’t kill them by any means. God knew they’d suffered worse conditions than one hot meal a day. Traveling with the caravan it had been the norm and with their platoon in the mountains in the thick of war it hadn’t been uncommon to go days without a solid meal. Hunger was a friend Steve knew well.

He was humbled by the number of civilians who had volunteered to aid the coup. It was one thing for soldiers to put themselves in harm’s way but, Frau Boehringer was a house wife. Oster had mentioned she'd just had a grandson. Grimm was married with young boys.  And yet they were all of them willing to commit treason. It made him think of Tony at home with the children, ferreting messages between the Abwehr and the English. Not because Steve had asked but because of how he was made.

 

-

_12 hrs in._

“Food should be here soon.” Steve announced, looking up from the message he was writing as the clock upon the otherwise bare white wall chimed the hour of seven. His stomach felt uncomfortably tight, a familiar tension that drove away his appetite despite the fact that it was going on twenty hours since he’d last eaten.

Bucky, who was taking his turn at watch at the window asked without taking his eyes from the street, “Where’s it coming from?”

“A fairy, Bakhuizen.” Kroger called from where he lay over on the sagging sofa, “Why don’t you make a wish?”

“Why don’t you shove it up your ass. Yeah?” Bucky flipped back. He turned his head from the window to look at Steve, sitting at the table they’d dragged in from the kitchen. “It might be our last supper. I wanna know who’s bringing it.”

“Life as a civilian has made you soft. You used to not care where your food came from,” Steve commented softly, watching Bucky’s face fondly as it twisted in a show of affront.

“Untrue, very untrue. I’ve always cared about food.”

There were steps in the hall and the room went quiet, it’s occupants tensing. Steve reached slowly for the weapon resting on the table. A moment later there was a knock on the door. Four, two, and three rapid taps in the prearranged code but Steve kept his weapon at the ready while Zimmerman got up to answer the door.

He relaxed at the sight of one of the private’s in the squad currently on guard rotation escorting a young boy and two women burdened with baskets likely containing their dinner.

“Frau Boehringer’s here. And a runner with news.” The private whispered to Zimmerman who nodded and relayed the message to Steve.

Steve jerked his head. “Show them in, don’t leave her out on the stairs. Where are your manners?”

Zimmerman shuffled aside to let the boy, who Steve recognized as the little French one that always seemed to be hanging around special agent Coulson, and a stout older woman who was followed by an equally stout younger woman who bore such a strong resemblance to her she couldn’t only be a daughter.

“Good evening, Frau Boehringer. Did you make it here all right?” Steve rose to take the large pot she was trying to maneuver around the men who were already collecting around the table like hungry dogs and she smiled gratefully.

“They weren’t followed or nothing, I was half a block behind the whole way and didn’t see nobody.” the boy Clinton assured, as he dug around inside his trouser pockets for the correspondence Coulson had given him to deliver. Steve handed him the coded report he’d scrawled on a scrap of paper and it quickly disappeared inside the boy’s jacket.

“Burn that, soon as you’ve read it. I’ll be back in two days.” The boy reminded him. He turned to leave, but seemed to remember at the last moment. “Oh and Coulson says good luck to you Captain, you’re gonna need it.”

With a cheeky nod of his cap Clinton disappeared out the door again, leaving Steve and the men alone with the Boehringers. Steve opened up the small folded paper Clinton had left with him, eyes widening at the information written in small codded script.

Aust was gone. They’d lost another pair of eyes and ears in the Police department.

“The woman in the flat next door saw us.” Boehringer’s daughter revealed quietly, lifting sharp blue eyes to meet Steve’s as he tucked the paper away. They were fearful but not unsteady.

 “What did you tell her?” he asked and in his parallel view he could see Zimmerman tense, his hand moving to the pistol Steve knew he always kept on him. He held one hand up to stop him and Zimmerman didn’t move any further. They were not going to charge into some poor woman’s home simply because she had eyes.

Frauline Boehringer chewed her lip, her eyes wide but her voice steady as she replayed.

“I told her the truth. There is a training regiment here and my mother is a good German.” Then she added, with something of chagrin in her voice, “my sister is married to a soldier and I’m very patriotic myself.”

 Zimmerman relaxed marginally amidst the quiet chuckles of the other men.

Steve was just glad both women appeared to have a solid head on their shoulders and their nerves weren’t easily shaken.

 “I hope you’re still up for coming back. I know it is dangerous- ”

He was cut off by Frau Boehringer who flipped a hand out impatiently and said, “She’ll be fine, Captain. We know what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

The woman put her hands on her hips, “now, that Lilah looks like a silly fool after a husband I think it’s safe enough to stay for a few moments more. Don’t just stand around, let’s get the table set.” She snapped at the hungry eyed men collected around her pot, as if she were the officer in charge. She gestured for the canvass bag near Bucky’s feet and he stooped to hand it to her, sending a charming smile and a wink in her daughter’s direction.

“Oh, I like her.”

Lilah Boehringer hardly blinked, tilting her head in stoic ambivalence as she helped her mother serve up supper. Steve might have believed her show of indifference if it were it not for blush creeping up her neck that even the low lighting couldn’t hide.

They’d done their best to accommodate her, bringing along as many tin bowels and cups as they could get their hands on. No one had told him how Frau Boehringer was going to manage to feed them all, just that she would bring a meal each evening.

She’d made a goulash and warm bread, the smell of which was already filling the room and making Steve’s stomach twist uncomfortably with a reminder of hunger. It was a smart choice. The goulash provided both water and sustenance, and could thinned to stretch if need be. The bread was easy to share amongst themselves and filling. 

When the food was served, and she and her daughter were escorted out (Steve refrained from jerking Bucky back by the collar when he wouldn’t stop his flirting, but it was only just) he made himself of use and brought rations to the squad on watch.

 

-

_18hrs in_

Steve didn’t sleep. Despite a full day cramped indoors no one felt like sleeping, even though they all knew they should in order to be at their best when the moment for action came. Bucky had hunkered up beside him, shoulders leaning heavily against his, the sound of his familiar breathing lolling Steve closer to sleep.

He’d chosen a spot near the window where he could keep his eyes peeled for trouble, but there were hardly any people on the streets at this hour. Once curfew had passed it had become a ghost land.

The sound of an approaching motor drew his attention as a jeep carrying Gestapo slowly approached the building. Steve stiffened, hand steady on his rifle. But the Gestapo just crawled past, eyes combing the streets, never once looking up at where Steve was perched in the window.

He let a minute pass before he grabbed the torch to check in with the other units.

Eleven o’clock and all was well.

The night wore on. Steve found himself drifting after a time, his hand finding his pocket where the pouch full of beads rested.

They were cool and smooth to the touch. Their unusually vibrant hue had caught his eye when he’d seen them in the window of Pippen’s shop.  At first, he’d thought of having them strung together into a necklace for Natacha but now he worried the red would clash with her hair. She complained about that sort of thing now. They were so beautiful though it seemed a shame at the time not to buy them.

Thinking of Natacha and the other children led to thoughts of Tony as it so often did. The little family Steve had begun to dream of was just within reach. After the Führer was gone, things were going to be different he promised himself.

Steve blew out a long breath, his shoulders twitching. Bucky spared him a moment of quick, sharp consciousness at the sudden motion but then fell back under when there was no sight of immediate danger. Over at the table Zimmerman had pulled out a deck of cards and was silently losing at porker with some of the other soldiers.

Noticing his stare Zimmerman held up his hand, eyebrows raised in invitation. Steve hadn’t played cards for fun in years. Usually it was some ploy to speak to some general or trade information. He’d not sat down and enjoyed himself at a game in ages. He shook his head in refusal. Leaving his perch was not an option. It was paranoia, he knew, there were three look outs stationed as it was, and anything Steve saw from this vantage point wouldn’t save them any time. Not really. Still, he couldn’t shake the need to keep an eye out.

Zimmerman shrugged his shoulders and went back to his cards, his expression slowly morphing into irritation as he focused once more on his hand.  Steve wondered if Tony was any good at cards and then tried not to snort. It didn’t matter if Tony was any good at cards, Steve was sure he’d count them anyway.

Much like his prala always counted them. Bucky had an excellent poker face but it was still no match for Steve who knew all his tells.

“Do you think we’ll be famous?” The private who had been on guard duty when Frau Boehringer had brought dinner asked timidly. He looked around nervously from his sprawl on the floor. His fingers picked at a piece of bread left over from dinner as explained, “I mean after, after everything.”

“You mean after we stage a coup and hold Germany’s leader as a political prisoner?” Steve cocked his head. “Maybe.”

“What a stupid fucking question,” Bucky mumbled, dragging his eyes open. The private’s face colored and his gaze shot down to his boots, embarrassed.

“We’ll be famous either way. That’s not really in question,” Staff Sergeant Kroger said from his place on the floor adjacent to Private Johans. He was in the processes of cleaning his rifle for the third time.

“The question,” Bucky grappled tiredly for the cup he’d been drinking from before he’d fallen asleep, nearly knocking it over in the processes. “The question is what the hell are we going to do when we’ve got the bastard surrounded. I don’t know about you, but I don’t care what the Commander has agreed to. Nobody’s gonna be there but us. If we say the Führer went down in some friendly fire, then that’s what happened.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Kroger raised his polishing cloth in agreement.

“He’s the Supreme Leader of Germany. He deserves to stand trial!” Private Johan’s looked appalled at the direction the conversation had taken.

“We are the trial.” Steve cut in, “We can’t allow one man to bully his way through our government, through our country, so he can play at war and take the lives of innocents. He has to be stopped. It has to end. You’re here because you know that’s true.”

Steve’s words where followed by a heavy silence, every man in the room still. He swallowed. Johan’s was just young and looking for reassurance that there were doing the right thing.

“It won’t be anarchy. He’ll stand a trial.” Steve amended softly, for the Privates sake.

“I’ll say one thing, he’s right bout Czechoslovakia.” Zimmerman commented suddenly and there was a collective groan accompanied by load protests from the others.

“His excellency doesn’t give a ripe shit about the Germans in the borderlands. It’s the Czech army, their cannon factories and iron mines. That’s what’s he’s got his eye on, you twat!” Kroger spat.

“No. I’ve been there and seen the conditions myself! It’s deplorable how these Czech shiteaters treat Germans,” Zimmerman snapped back. “Our own people!”

“Because Hitler sends his troops where they don’t belong to take what never belonged to him.” Steve broke in, rage simmering just under the surface. “Or did you forget that?”

Zimmerman made a face, blinking rapidly behind his glasses, as if he’d been swatted in the face.

“How can I? I don’t support every decision the man makes, or else I wouldn’t be here. But we should do right by our people is what I’m saying. Even Hitler isn’t wrong about everything.”

His tone had gone placating and quiet as if he expected Steve or one of the others to punch him or worse.

Beside Steve Bucky finally spoke up asking, “What about the Jews? The niggers and everyone else Hitler’s says has to go. We doing right by them?”

Zimmerman’s expression didn’t change, his tone stayed soft and placating as he answered, “the Jews created problems. You know it’s true.”

Steve had to fight to unclench his jaw before he broke it. Around him he could feel the tension from the others, thick enough to cut with a bread knife. Over in the lounge chair, Pike, a retired Captain in the German Navy stirred, blinking his eyes slowly open from his interrupted sleep before leaning forward and looked at them all, gritting out through his teeth.

“And look at the solutions we’ve come up with.”

A chill went up Steve’s spine and he shivered. Being soldiers, they had all at the very least heard whispers of proposed solutions to the Jewish Problem. Steve wasn’t a fool and certainly not a misinformed one. The reports coming out of Dachau were all the same. Torture. Starvation. Strange experimentation. Prisoners were dropping like flies. They had to get Lukas and Dr. Leshnerr out of there soon.

 “The rumors are startling to be sure, but as a ruling force we have to maintain-” Zimmerman began to defend himself but Kroger scoffed and interrupted him.

“Oh I forgot, we’ve got an intellectual here.”

“Look the SS are no friends of mine either, but they wouldn’t dare do those sorts of things to citizens!” Zimmerman countered angrily.

“Yeah? What is it they wouldn’t do exactly?” Steve growled, irritated at the man’s blind stubbornness. Zimmerman was a soldier for god’s sake! The way the laws stood the Wehrmacht could give the order for them to put a bullet in each other’s heads and they would be obligated to obey. Nobody would do a damn thing to stop them! 

“Whoever is at the top decides. And if they decide to cart your body around naked, then that’s what they’re going to do! An order is an order. If we let them go on we’ll all be babysitting camps before you blink. That’s a promise.”

Zimmerman’s face twitched with contorted irritation in response to Steve’s tirade.

“Yes, Sir. But if you don’t believe in what you’re fighting for what is the point? The system is not all bad. We all want to bring Germany back to its former glory. Hitler is not the man to do that, I agree, but we are all here because we love Germany!”

“Germany? Germany?!” an incensed voice called from the mouth of the now open bedroom door. Steve’s old comrade Lucan Parodi fisted his hands at his sides and glared out at Zimmerman.

“I care about my family. They’ve sent people I love to the ghettos and you say I’m here for _Germany_? Fuck you.”

Steve had contacted Parodi months ago. The last he’d heard, Lucan had gone back to his father’s home in Dagal earlier in the year, only to find that even as far south as Liechtenstein the Germans were forcing the Jews from their homes and into the ghettos. Three cousins on his father’s side were now in a segregated quarter of the city. His wife’s entire family had been transplanted out of the city entirely due to overcrowding.

She’d only managed to avoid it herself because Parodi had secured false papers from Coulson saying she was a sister of his, in exchange for lending his skills to the Coup. But they knew the lie would not hold up. Too many people had known them and eventually someone would come looking. It was only a matter of when. They had weeks at best, and Steve had no doubt that if the Gestapo came back for her Parodi would die trying to stop them, or worse decide to share her fate. Time was running out for all of them.

“They aren’t hurt. All these wild rumors and the worst that’s happened to anyone is they’ve had to move. I’m sorry if they found that inconvenient, but Germans must put Germany first. You can’t deny that Hitler has done that and done some good.” Zimmerman stubbornly insisted.

“I can.” Bucky spat.

“Jobs have opened up, money is more lucrative now, the streets are cleaner than I’ve ever seen them, and citizen are not being taken advantage of.” Zimmerman replied with a snort, his voice losing some of the confidence it had adopted. “As long as we don’t get cock deep in a war, Germany can rebuild itself.”

Steve labored to calm his breathing, a dull ringing in his ears as Zimmerman’s words banged around like rockets in his head. All he could think of was what he’d heard, and the little he’d seen, that had been enough to make his blood go cold. 

Work camps full of Roma, piled on top of each other. Festering in shit and sick, where they’d been dumped until they died. Unlike the Jews in the ghettos there was no counting how many of them had died. Jews might be subhuman in the eyes of the Reich, infected dogs to their human counterparts, but the Roma… they were just the garbage someone had been tasked to sweep away at the end of the night. No one bothered to keep numbers. There were no books full of names and birthdates, no accounts of who they’d been and where they’d been sent. They were all just vanishing… as if they had never been.

“It’s a lot of worry over nothing. I went to the work house myself. Full of children, you know, the half gypsies? They were running around Mulfingan happy as can be.  I don’t know what they plan to do with them in the long term. Perhaps dump them in Poland.” Zimmerman speculated wryly and a few of the men laughed. Steve blinked slowly, coming out of the dark thoughts in his head at the sound of Bucky’s slow exhale close to his ear. Glancing at him, someone might mistake the look on his face for calm but they didn’t know him like Steve knew him. Bucky was close to doing something he’d regret, and Steve wasn’t much better off.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with them. They’re only kids. It’s what to do when they’re adults. Do you think-”

Steve stood up, and the sudden movement caused Zimmerman to pause his musings.

“We need to rotate the guard.” Steve snapped in a tone he knew none of them would argue with, effectively closing the conversation. He’d had had enough. If he listened to any more of that he’d have to account for more than the death of the Führer.

 

-

_20 hrs in_

Steve looked up when he heard the sound of feet on the stairwell, though he knew the sound of Bucky’s tread well enough that he didn’t bother to lift his weapon. He kept his finger resting close to the trigger, but that was just par for the course.

Bucky halted a few steps above him, arching his dark eyebrows as he lit up one of his smokes.

“The air any clearer out here?” he grunted in Romany and Steve tensed. Even here alone in the cramped stairwell he was aware of all the ears above and below them. Bucky shouldn’t take such risks, but that was Bucky. After what they’d just been forced to stomach back in the apartment with Zimmerman and the others, Steve knew that this sort of defiance was what Bucky needed. It was this or start throwing punches.

With a pang Steve thought of Aust, and wondered if he might not need it too. Just tonight.

“Not with you blowing your smoke all over the place,” he replied softly. The Romany sounded stiff in his ears but it came easier and easier to his tongue with every word spoken, like ice melting in his mouth.

“You remember Joseph Aust?” he asked and Bucky nodded, frowning thoughtfully.

“He went into the police, didn’t he?”

Steve nodded slowly.

“He was helping with the resistance effort… he’s gone now. Taken to the Gypsy internment camp.”

Bucky’s eyebrows crawled upward, his lips tensing around the cigarette in his mouth. He breathed out slow.

“No shit? I had no idea he was Rom.”

Steve’s hands tightened on his weapon. He nodded once more, grunting out a soft reply.

“Neither did I.”

Bucky sighed.

“Rochel needs to get out of Poland,” he rasped, looking up to meet Steve’s eyes once more and in them Steve saw the same fear and dread that dogged every step Steve made. Cursing under his breath he revealed, “I warned her, but she won’t leave that man of hers. She’s stubborn.”

“She’s _your_ sister,” Steve tried to make light, tried to banish that terrible look off of Bucky’s face but when his prala laughed the sound was almost as bitter as his expression.

“After the way your ma pulled her into this world how could I forget.” he chuckled darkly as he took a deep drag on his cigarette before he added like an afterthought, “Maybe she should have died in the womb.”

With a slow release of breath and a flick of his wrist he tossed his cigarette aside and Steve watched as it landed on the stair and Bucky smothered the glowing end with the toe of his boot.

 

-

_46 hours in_

Patience was a virtue; every rifleman knew that. It was a virtue and it was going to kill him.

“General Schmidt threatened me.” He heard himself say suddenly into the small group of men he was huddled with against the nights chill as they took their turn at patrol

None of the others besides Bucky seemed surprised by his sudden announcement. They were used to the way that waiting around for hours with only the possibility of death at the other end of the wait could make a man willing to share things about his life he wouldn’t otherwise.  They all had to make their peace with the fact that the chance might never come again. It was a comradery older and truer than anything else Steve knew.

But Bucky, still chaffing from the conversation of the night before, froze, his face thunderous for a moment as he narrowed his eyes in warning, but Steve carried on.

“Took time out of his day to see me at my barracks. Told me a story about his sister’s family and then threatened mine. So we must be doing something right” he finished, rubbing the back of his neck.

No one said anything. There wasn’t a man among them who didn’t understand the weight of Schmidt’s threats.  Finally, Zimmerman turned his head and blinked at him, his glasses making his eyes appear owlish.

“Schmidt has family?” he asked, sounding incredulous, and Bucky coughed into his hand trying to smother his startled laughter. The tension broken, Steve even managed a dry chuckle of his own.

“You’d think he just popped up outta the ground or something. Like a daisy.” Bucky muttered and the chuckling intensified.

“I always thought his mother gave birth to him with uniform on and everything.” Johan’s added timidly, and the dam broke. The group of soldiers laughed loudly under the lanterns of Hugel street, inhaling the crisp night air and for one moment at least, ignoring the fear they carried.

_-_

_55 hrs in_

It was exhausting fluctuating between high alert every time an armored truck or a police vehicle went by, and mind numbing endless boredom.

Consequently, there was hardly anything to keep Steve’s mind form straying into territory that he’d rather it didn’t go. Keeping his demons on a tight leash through work, was something he was an expert in. He’d had to be, or he wouldn’t have survived this long. In a war, if you couldn’t focus on the mission at hand and only that you put your men in danger. You had to lock all your concerns for you family and your life into a small box and shut the lid.

That practice had served him well after the Great War, through the Austrian Civil war that had followed, and on past losing his wife.

Problem was, these past few months he’d looked under the lid, and he was finding it harder than he’d ever imagined it could be to close it again.

Steve turned from where he sat to glance toward the table, where he was keeping an eye on Bucky who was playing a game of cards with Kroger and Zimmerman, loud and happy in a way that Steve could only be envious of courtesy of the Pilots Salt Parodi had passed around to the weary men.

“Major?” Parodi had held up the little bottle, questioning, but Steve had shaken his head. He knew the drug did wonders at boosting alertness and morale, but he did not relish trading his downed spirits with a racing heart, paranoia and terrifying dreams – the way it had the first time. He didn’t begrudge Bucky the opportunity to forget for a while. Some men could handle it better, but he’d rather burn his legs to stay awake than to ever take the salt again.  

Without thinking, Steve slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his little velvet bag of beads. He allowed himself to marvel once more at their beautiful deep red hue as he rolled a few idly between his fingers.

He wondered why on earth had he bought such a frivolous thing with a flash of exasperation. It really wasn’t Natacha’s color. It reminded him of the vest he’d bought for Tony. That had been some of the best money he’d ever spent, he decided, remembering the way the red had looked set against Tony’s dark hair and unfashionably dark features.

Heart thumping, Steve thought that maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to take the pills. Maybe if he took some he would stop thinking about home. It would almost be worth it.

Because thinking of home was too painful. He’d made his peace with it, shut the door on anything else aside from working to free Austria with the resistance. But now there were all these things he couldn’t stop thinking about. His children. All the things he would miss. Tony and the way he tasted.

Steve would close his eyes and remind himself that soldiers didn’t get to choose when they died. Sacrifice was what they did. But then his thoughts would flitter over the months that Tony had been with them: a lazy summer day on the lake, building boats, teaching the children to shoot and strolling hand in hand in Vienna.

He’d been preparing himself to say goodbye all this time… But, what if he didn’t have to? What if whether the Führer was gone or not, Steve just left Europe to her fate. Would that be so wrong?

Shame flooded through him. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the fleeting thought away.

-

_60 hours in_

All night Steve sat up watching. Waiting. Every shadow seemed to come to life, every sound a threat. Zimmerman offered at first light to take his position, but Steve shook his head and sent him to relieve the private standing look out in the stairwell.

A few moments later thirst got the better of him and he made his way to the kitchen, stepping over the men sleeping on the floor.

Kroger, who had been sitting with his back against the wall near the kitchen door got up to follow him into the kitchen, still obsessively polishing his weapon.

“You know what I keep thinking?” He didn’t look up from his task, but it was clear he was speaking to Steve.

“I keep thinking my daughters going to need a new dress come the end of the year. She’s growing like a weed.”

Steve perked up, the set of the man’s shoulders, the timber of his voice, hell the subject matter alone indicating that as unexpectedly as the conversation had started that it was important. Steve knew the sound of a man with something important on his mind and prepared himself to listen.

Kroger turned and leaned against the table, his large frame taking up space in the tiny kitchen.

“Nina’s ten. You have a daughter that’s nearly ten, don’t you?”

“Son.” Steve corrected, an image of Ian, holding his shirt and all its missing buttons in hand the night before he’d left to report to his post filling his head. “Ian’s ten. Natacha’s twelve and about to be thirty.”

“Hard to keep track when you have fifteen of them.” Kroger chuckled, the tension easing a little in his shoulders. “Isn’t that the way daughters are? One minute they’re in white dresses and sashes, the next you’ve blinked and she’s picking out rings and telling you about the state of the Reich.”

Kroger snorted a laugh and went on.

“I’ve got a boy too and I’m positive Nina got all the brains.” He paused his gaze floating away in memory. “She takes after her mother. Lisbet was smarter than anyone I know.”

Steve focused his breathing. Why was it so hard to breathe out here? It was like being a boy again, wheezing for every breath, only Bucky couldn’t lay with him and rub his back this time.

“I’m sorry. When did she die?” He heard himself ask.

“Oh years ago, when Anton was very young.” Kroger waved away his obvious hesitance with a dismissive hand, as if the pain of losing someone you loved dulled with something so small as time.

“Still. It’d be easier if she was here. If things go to shit, it’d be easier for the children.”

Kroger was watching him now, a very focused gaze that set Steve’s nerves on edge.

“My fiancée will take care of them. She knows about all this.”

Steve frowned. He’d known that Kroger was engaged to be remarried.

But how could Kroger be so careless with his fiancée? Didn’t he understand how much danger that put her in!

“I didn’t think I’d ever love someone like that again. You know how it is I’m sure.” Kroger nodded at him in commissary. “You’re quite the lucky man. Baroness Schrader is a very competent woman.”

Steve twitched, trying to cover his surprise and then feeling irritated that he’d been caught off guard. Of course, Kroger had been talking about Charlotte.

“She is. Very.” He responded, sounding short even to his own ears. She was just like Peggy. He trusted her, she was loyal, and had always been a good friend to him. Good company.

It wasn’t her fault that when he pictured his family it included a fast-talking eccentric monk and not her fair face.

“I know you’ve got your own family to look after, but If you make it out of this and I don’t, you’ll look in on Nina and Anton Won’t you?” Kroger’s voice was flat as if he were asking after the time. “Victoria can take care of herself, but I’d like to know someone was there to make sure. Nina won’t listen to a stepmother. She’s already sour that Victoria insisted she go to the Bride School. I know my girl, she’s not ready for marriage. She’s not like your child-”

“Of course!” Steve cut him off, the sharpness of it surprising even him. He just needed the man to stop talking. He didn’t want to hear how Nina Kroger was innocent and not ready for the demands of the Reich like his children supposedly were. Like James, who despite every insistence that he was not a baby like Artur, still couldn’t sleep without his brothers. Or like Péter who’d come home with eyes blackened so often Steve had sent him to Switzerland just to be sure he’d make it through the year. Or Natacha, who was only twelve but might as well have been a cow for how they inspected her teeth and measured her waist and declared her prime stock.

He didn’t want to know what made his children indestructible while others got to be vulnerable, but Kroger was looking at him, hope barely disguised in his eyes.

Steve swallowed his anger. Kroger was just a father like him. Doing his best. It was hard for a man sometimes to see beyond his own children. 

Steve nodded again, his shoulders feeling heavy.

“Of course, I’ll look in on them.” He promised quietly. “You’ve got my word.”

-

_75 hrs. in_

 

“Bakhuizen is not doing his job!” Zimmerman complained loudly as he and Bucky strode through the door. Zimmerman frowned down at the tin cup of bread juice he was holding. They’d made a batch that morning from the stale bread and what was left of the goulash. Mixed with water it made a sort of slushy soup.  Not the worst fare by any means but nothing to write songs about either.

“Oh, I’ve done my job.” Bucky said unslinging his weapon and raking a hand through his dirty hair. His smile was cheeky though, a familiar glint of mischief in his eye that usually meant he’d charmed his way into some woman’s bed. Steve frowned down at the sketch he was making, wondering when Bucky had found the time. Just because they had a cover story didn’t mean they could afford to be sloppy. If he found out Bucky had ditched his patrol he’d have to yell at him. Brother or no brother there was no preferential treatment in this squad.

“I’ve done my job real well.” Bucky was saying. “That’s why we’re having pie tonight.’”

Steve looked up from his sketch of private Johans and Parodi bent over cards, light shining off of their sweaty skin.

“If we’re still here in ten hours, Frauline Boehringer is going to bring us fresh baked pie and a seasoned roast. No more of this goulash shit.” Bucky explained to the curious eyes that met him and Parodi lifted his cup in a mock salute, the slush inside slopping loudly. Steve licked his dry lips, his stomach rolling over itself in protest. Sweat trickled down his face and he wiped it away, agitated.

“Did you leave your post?!”

Bucky shot him a dry look, and shook his head.

“Whatya think I’m new at this?” he growled. “Relax Stevie, I ran into the girl on the street. Couple pricks in police uniforms weren’t taking no for an answer. I always rescue a lady in distress.”

Steve nodded apologetically and let the conversation go on without him. He had no idea why his ire was up. It might be a crisp fall day outside but here in the apartment packed with fifteen bodies in and out it was stuffy and beginning to smell strongly of unwashed bodies.

“Should have seen how the silly girl fell all over this one. Completely ignored the fact that I was there.” Zimmerman grumbled good naturedly.

“Some women just have no taste.” Pike cackled from the corner and Bucky gave him the finger as Parodi laughed.

“What’s a woman like that want with an old dog like you anyway Bakhuizen?”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully and then replied, to the raucous approval of the others, “I imagine it’s got a lot do with the way I handle my weapon.”

As the talk dissolved into Lila Boehringer’s assets Steve felt his interest in the conversation slipping. Why couldn’t he be more like Bucky, and put the stress and the worry neatly away, meeting the world with a confidant smile that women would flock to and other men admire? Why weren’t a pretty young woman’s plump body parts enough to soothe away all of his worries? Even with Margrit he’d never been able to lose himself completely in the softness of someone elses flesh. His demons always seemed to follow him wherever he went.

He stared at the sketch in his hands, the thick and fine lines swimming in front of his face.  He’d meant to be sketching Johans, but Johans had red hair. Red. So why had he filled it in so dark? And his hands were all wrong. Johans had fine but square hands, no scars. The hands Steve had drawn were longer, nimble fingered and lined with fine intricate little scars. They were the hands of a mechanic. Not the son of an accountant.

“I could use some soft flesh right now.” One of the men said, their voice indistinguishable from the dull roar in Steve’s head at that moment.

He remembered those hands. How they’d settled on his waist. Slid up his back.

“You hear that Bakhuizen! Duty calls!” another voice said, and then in the din, Bucky’s voice rising above the others. Full of laughter.

“Go fuck yourselves!”

Steve blinked down at the smudges of pencil in shock. He’d switched from drawing Johans to drawing Tony at some point and had not even realized it.

And why not? Tony was everywhere in his head. He didn’t have to close his eyes to see his long shapely fingers, or remember they way they had climbed over his arms, scrapping his nerves into a raw fire.

If he did close his eyes he knew what he’d see staring back at him.

Dark brown eyes. A quick smile.

Steve slammed his hand over the picture, as if covering it up would stop his intrusive thoughts.

The room went suddenly silent as the men stared at him, agape.

“Rogers?” 

Steve threw the sketch aside lunging to his feet. He had to shut the door on things like that, couldn’t afford to think on them here. He had to keep them out. Focus.

“I’m relieving the stairwell watch.”

Bucky frowned at him, “We just rota-“

“I need the air,” Steve snapped before he could finish. He felt their eyes on him all the way to the door.

-

Hours later, when he made it back upstairs he found the men curled into their bags on the floor asleep. Steve gave the apartment several sweeps but eventually settled on the fact that his sketch was missing. A strange feeling of panic swelled up inside him until a throat, softly cleared and he realized that not all the men were asleep. Bucky was awake and curled up on the spot beside the window that had somehow become theirs. He was watching Steve, the glow from his cigarette illuminating his face in the darkness and Steve held his gaze. For the first time, Steve thought that the look in Bucky’s eyes resembled one of pity.

It made him angry. He clenched his jaw, snapping out that he was fine. As if he could erase that look from Bucky’s eyes with will alone. Bucky shrugged, turning back toward the window and Steve sat down heavily in the seat next to him. He didn’t worry about whether or not he was welcome there. With Bucky, he always was. Even when he wasn’t.

Bucky stared out the window. The hand not gripping the end of his smoke, rested on his knees, clenching open and closed and Steve watched it, wondering what was so out of reach that Bucky wanted to grasp.

“Whatever you do.” Bucky’s voice was soft and low under the snores of the others, a softly rumbled warning.

“Don’t.” 

-

_88 hrs. in_

Don’t Bucky had warned.

Steve knew what he had to do. What he should do versus what he selfishly wanted.

Don’t, Bucky had warned, and he hadn’t meant to.

But his resolve, such as it was, was weak and only weakening as the hours stretched by.

He hoped their mission succeeded, but there was no guarantee that even if it did that Steve and those who had participated wouldn’t be dubbed traitors by the public. He could as easily be condemned for his actions as awarded for them. He knew that. He’d made his peace and judged it the right thing to do.

But it wasn’t the only thing he could do. He could run, as Tony and Bucky were always urging him to do. He could lay down his weapon, his pride, and forsake his duty, and simply walk away from it all.

God, but he could see it. A life where he was there present with his family, where his children did not always have to wonder where he was and whether or not he would return to them. Where he wasn’t in the Wehrmacht, wasn’t a soldier, didn’t have to sacrifice so much for others and could focus on the things that made him happy for once.

He was good with his hands, he could find work outside of the military. He could.

His grandad had been teaching him his trade. Steve had expected to earn money making trinkets and instruments and selling them to the gadjie the way that Ian had before the war had come. And there was always his art. After the war when he and Bucky had lived in Leopoldstat Steve had managed to bring in a little income working with a magazine. He and Bucky had made a little extra money here and there using their talents, breaking even between their rent and the money they sent back to their mothers. He could live like that again.

Tony was so quick and clever, surely, between the two of them they could keep the children clothed and fed. Steve thought they could do anything as long as they were together.

He looked out the window, watching the street lamp lights and the way it made the rain slick stones on the building gleam like they were made of something else entirely. It reminded him of one of the books he’d sent Ian. A book about a kingdom in a lake.

His fingers itched for more paper. He could draw the whole thing now, the whole blue and gold kingdom under the shimmering water. He could pack up his things and walk out of here, catch a train home to Salzburg and gather the children. With the Abwehr covering his absence as part of a classified training operation he didn’t need to be anywhere or explain himself to anyone. By the time the dust settled from the coup he’d be long gone.

Ian would love a drawing like that. Steve could paint him things for his room. Anything he liked. And he could make good on his promise to teach him to play the mandolin.

Grief slashed through him, sudden and deep, like riding a bicycle and accidentally running into a post. He hadn’t touched the mandolin his grandfather had made him since he’d buried his wife but now he craved it. He wanted the weight of it in his lap and the smooth wood underneath his fingers. The same way it had always been, from his grandfather’s hands to his. He wanted Tony and the children surrounding the light of a campfire in the woods, while he and Bucky played the instruments Steve’s grandfather had made them. That was it. All he needed and wanted in the world.

It was like once he’d allowed himself to want it, to dream these things, there was no stopping it. The flood gates were open.

His thoughts spiraled as the minutes ticked on, never landing on anything, skipping from ache to ache as the dreams played on like visions in his head. All of it was too heavy… too impossibly possible. It hurt. But he still wanted each and every one. 

 

-

_120 hrs. in_

He’s arguing with Tony. Again. He’d forgotten the point of the argument; the point now was to one up each other. To argue until Tony gave. Tony did give. Steve did in fact believe in miracles. Pushing to that point was as exhilarating each time as it was infuriating. Kind of like the man himself.

Tony turned sharp eyes on him, all crackling energy, armed with his cleverness to beat Steve’s will into the ground. Only, that never seemed to be what Tony wanted. He lit up when Steve countered him, matched him wit for wit and stubborn for stubborn.

Tony looks at him from across the garage. He’d been talking nonstop and despite the fact that they’ve left any conversation Steve had a hope of following, he looks at Steve like Steve is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

And then they’re on the couch. Tony reads with his head in Steve’s lap, his hand tapping out a beat on the cover of his book.

And then Steve is in the middle of his morning run, running around and around the villa in an endless loop no end in sight, but then Tony yells out to him from the veranda and he slows to a stop. Their eyes connect, and he breathes in deep and slow, heart thudding loudly in his ears.

He’d forgotten the sheer heat two bodies could make. He twisted slowly, dragging a hand over his stomach, reaching for the body pressed so closed to his. Warmth seeped over him as he pulled the sheets away from tan skin, marveling at the flesh laid out before him like an offering. Steve turned into his side, burring his face in the crook of Tony’s neck, inhaling the warm scent of sleep that still clung to him.

He drifted, the hand that had been exploring Tony’s back now trickling through the sleep worn waves of his hair.

He remembers this part. In Berlin, slowly surfacing from sleep at the feeling of warm pressure against his back, Tony’s body covering him gently. Thinking muzzily that he’d never been so warm in his life. Never felt so comfortable and so tired, but in a good way.

Tony’s hand strokes down his side, and it feels so damn good Steve could groan. He does, and it earns him a little chuckle from Tony who turns his head and kisses the side of Steve’s face. Steve presses into it and lets Tony do as he pleases, enjoying the soft freedom of it all.

Tony bites Steve’s ear gently between his teeth and it sends electric shock straight through his stomach to his groin, but just as quickly Tony soothes the area, languidly running his tongue over the sensitive skin. His hands drift. But his intent is very clear.

Steve pushes back into him instinctively and Tony murmurs something soft and maybe obscene. It is hard for Steve to focus over the burning sensation overtaking his body. Just like that day in Berlin. It’s strange to know that he is dreaming even as he dreams. It is dawn somewhere out there. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know, could feel it in his bones, but he didn’t want to open them anyway. He wanted to stay there in the room with Tony just a while longer.

Tony shifts, and Steve snatches his arm, running his lips over the wrist and down Tony’s fingeres before wrapping Tony’s arm around himself. Steve was perfectly cinched between Tony and the sheets. He turned his head just enough to capture Tony’s mouth, slow but desperate all the same.

Tony murmurs his name, slowly moving from Steve’s mouth to his shoulder, down his spine.

Hands cradle his hips and then Tony is inside him, time slipping like a rock over water. One minute Steve is reveling in the trails of heat Tony’s mouth makes across his skin, and in the next all he knows is the sensation of being filled and pushed into the bed. He wanted more of it. He told Tony so. Told him every last filthy thing he’d ever thought about him, about what he wanted to do to Tony and what Tony should do to him. He told Tony things he’d hardly dared to think, let alone speak aloud.

It was perfect.

There in the dream, Tony knew exactly what to do. How to touch. How to pull Steve outside of himself until he was just a shaking mess, empty of all thought accept for the need of more. Tony’s not afraid. Tony will take care of him. Tony would -

Steve clung to the dream but the light spilling in from the window dragged him toward wakefulness. Slowly, he opened his eyes and stretched his legs out. His muscles protested and then accommodated, easing to the morning chill in the room. He was stiff from sitting prone for so long. Steve shifted, thinking of his dream, his hand curling on his thigh. He was stiff all over. His eyes flicked nervously to the men lying around the room in their sleeping bags, a few early risers like himself already beginning to stir. It wouldn’t be the first time any of them had seen a man wake up eager, but the pressure in his groin was insistent and he didn’t relish the embarrassment of walking around stiff all morning in front of the men.

Gritting his teeth, Steve got up and stumbled toward the toilet stepping over the sleeping forms of his comrades. The water closet was barely big enough to fit him. Ducking his head through the narrow door he was already bumping elbows with the wall. The tight space didn’t stop him from nearly ripping open his trousers and taking himself in hand.

He bit the back of his hand to stifle his groan and set a punishing pace as best he could in the close quarters.

He’d imagined Tony inside of him! He remembered with a curl of shame even as pleasure, dark and insistent tightened in his belly. Yes, he’d dreamed that. Wanted it. He’d wanted Tony’s hands on his hips pinning him to the bed, burning skin slapping against his thighs. Tony’s hand running up his chest, over his heart, and just holding him there, pinning him down.

Breath hitching Steve thought with dizzy delight that Tony could probably do it too. Despite Bucky’s constant jabs Tony wasn’t particularly small and he was strong. Steve wanted him to try, at least.

Steve wanted him closer. As close as he could get and that was so _wrong._

It was one thing to want another man, but a man shouldn’t want to feel overpowered. This was not how he was supposed to be. It was alright for Tony to land on his back. He was different. Softer. Wonderfully softer. But he was hard too. A man everywhere it counted. Steve’s breath hitched in his chest as the pleasure built, alongside it a prickle of headache as his thoughts bounced back and forth inside his head.

He changed his grip. Slowed his pace. Struggled to breathe.

Truth was it didn’t make much sense and he knew that. He just didn’t know what it meant that he was alright with Tony doing what he himself found unfathomable.

Well not that unfathomable, obviously. Clearly not as he stooped in a cramped toilet with his hand around his cock, remembering the things he’d asked for in the dream. Begged for.

The dream had felt so real and like so many of his dreams before, it stayed with him. He couldn’t shake the feeling of Tony’s breath ghosting over the back of his neck, mouth skating over his temple, demanding as always, as he’d whispered filth with unbearable tenderness. 

Steve couldn’t hold onto his thoughts as he came with the phantom feeling of Tony’s chest pressed against his back. 

He sagged against the wall and rested his head, his breathing shaky as he righted himself, body thrumming with pins and needles. He’d thought release would make him feel better, but the aftermath just left him feeling torn and raw. He’d felt similar in Berlin, like someone had taken a knife and begun peeling his skin with every shock of pleasure that had shot through his body.

The memory of Tony lying on top of him was so vivid in his mind. He remembered each overwhelming sensation and every terrified gasp for breath as control spun away from him and fear rose up to meet him. He’d felt like he’d come out of his skin, but Tony had been there, holding him, helping to put him back in it again.

When it had happened, all Steve had felt was shame – what sort of man cried because something was too _good_ \- but now, now all he wanted…

Steve swallowed thickly, thinking that he’d blown himself wide open and made a fool of himself, but Tony hadn’t left him. He laid down beside Steve and wiped away the tears and mess, told Steve he’d been wonderful. Called him love.

Steve dropped his head into his hands and cut off a groan that was entirely different from any of the sounds he’d made when he’d been desperate to come. He bit down on his lip but barely felt the sting over the fierce ache in his chest.

Two days was not enough time. He’d thought it would be enough, that he could be content with whatever the future would bring so long as he could touch him just once, but that brief taste had just left him aching for more. He didn’t even mean the sex, Steve would trade it for just more of Tony. He’d be happy just to sit and listen to his endless chatter or watch him tinker on some machine if it meant just a little more time. God, he wanted more time.

Steve huffed out a breath that was shamefully close to a whimper and swallowed. He shoved away the melancholy, the emptiness, the raw feeling of ache in his chest.

Once, his goal had been to stop the storm that was the Third Reich because it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. It was still the only thing to do, but now he wasn’t sure if he could do it if it meant losing his family or Tony, and it terrified him.

He must do better he decided. They all deserved better.

He would do what he had to in order to get the job done and when this was over he was leaving the army, and going home to his family. Whatever had gotten so bent inside him could be faced, so long as he was with them. Soldiers come home with irritable hearts, Bucky’s mother used to say. Well irritable hearts be damned.

He’d find peace if he could just be with his family. Tony had been trying to show him that. He saw that now. Saw how he’d been trying to go home for years. Searching for it, ever since he left the caravan in search of his father in order to bring back food for his mother. He and Bucky had left the caravan that day and promised to come home, only somehow Steve had gotten lost along the way and he had never figured out how to go get back.

Steve took a shaky breath, calming himself as he focused on breathing in and out and his promise to himself. This would be over soon, and then he would go home. But in the meanwhile, he couldn’t sit in a toilet all day with his cock out. That and the smell was getting to him. Despite the rooms chill there was an underlying sickly warm stench of urine and refuse that couldn’t be masked.  It was the product of too many bodies all going in one place and not so much as a soap bar to go about cleaning up after themselves. The apartment could barely manage a small family let alone fifteen or so men all using one pipe system.

Grimacing he straightened, purposefully keeping his mind blank as he went about washing and zipping up, and then he left the latrine. He snapped the door shut behind him, only to discover that Kroger was awake and sitting up now. The man met his gaze with a smirk as he asked, “Alright, Major? Got everything in hand?”

“Shut up.” Steve snapped, his neck heating, but there was no real fire behind it. Kroger leaned forward with a wide grin, the smell of potential entertainment at Steve’s expense caught in his nose now.

“Is she pretty?”

“Course she’s pretty, she’s a baroness. They’re always pretty, even when they’re ugly.” To Steve’s continued embarrassment Becker chimed in groggily from his sleeping bag on the floor.

“If you don’t shut your traps I’ll snap em shut for ya.” Bucky snarled unexpectedly from their spot by the window, heat lacing his voice. Steve eyed him, but Bucky had already gone back to his watch. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Bucky knowing what he’d been up to. He’d spent so long trying to hide his unclean thoughts from his prala, that it was a hard habit to break.

Judging by the tenseness of Bucky’s jaw he wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable with breaking the habit.

Steve grit his teeth. He knew what Bucky wanted but he wouldn’t give up Tony. Not for anything. Just the thought had his fingers twitching with adrenaline. They could try to take him, all of them, and he would tear them apart.

But they wouldn’t, he reminded himself, forcing continued calm. Because they didn’t suspect anything between them. Still, he couldn’t help the prickle of shame he felt whenever the subject of Tony came up and Bucky would look at him that way. It wasn’t disgust necessarily, and fear didn’t quite cover it either. Just a sense of otherness. Like Bucky’d opened his eyes one day and discovered Steve was some other type of creature entirely.

Bucky looked at him now like he didn’t quite know him and that was far more painful than any sort of disgust he could have mustered up. He’d said once that he’d always known about Steve, or at least that he’d suspected… but, Steve supposed looking the proof in the face that your brother was a cocksucker was different. It felt different to Steve.

“Shut up, Kroger. I’ve heard you in there.” Steve nodded over his shoulder, effecting a playfulness he didn’t feel for the benefit of those watching. “I’m surprised you haven’t ripped your cock off by now.”

That got a few grunts of laughter as the rest of the men began to stir.

Kroger said something about his prowess, but Steve had turned back to Bucky who was looking back at him now, watching Steve with expressionless eyes.

‘I can’t change this’ Steve wanted to say, implored silently in some bitter hope that whatever distance was between them now, they still wouldn’t need words to hear one another. ‘I can’t change it and I don’t want to.’

Bucky looked away and Steve’s heart sank.

“I’m on patrol.” Bucky announced suddenly, straightening from his seat to snatching up his weapon. “Stairwell. Rogers, watch my six.”

Bucky headed purposefully toward the door, not waiting to confirm that Steve had his back and Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief, the first genuine smile of the day tugging at his mouth.

Together they would get this done and after it was over, then he could go home. 

-

_151hrs in._

When he would try to recall the moment, the only thing Steve would remember with clarity would be the way the news hit him, like a physical blow.

Clinton came to deliver it, his face glum and eyes heavy with impotent anger.

“The meetings have ended, the Führer signed a peace deal and is on his way back to Berlin. They’re calling it off. The Chief, he says say if you attack now the army won’t back you up. It’s over Captain.”

The announcement was followed by an uproar from the men, but all Steve would remember was the numbness he felt.

He’d remember the coldness and how trying to pay attention to the conversation was like trying to hear while underwater. He wouldn’t remember stopping Bucky – who was all for going ahead with the plan anyways, even without the expected back up – or how his voice cracked when he’d commanded him, physically and loudly, to stand the hell down. It was still a mercy really that he couldn’t remember the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face as the hopelessness had set in.

All he could remember was the words. Peace deal. No backup. They’re calling it off. You’re on your own and if you attack now, it’s on your head.

Hitler was on his way back to the Chancellery where they could easily outnumber him. But not hold him. Not without the army’s support. They could kill him still. Steve was fairly certain they could still carry out the plan and successfully kill the Führer but without the support of the army and the former heads of state, it would be a suicide mission. If they escaped arrest and the traitors’ deaths that waited for them, they’d have to flee the country.

Steve might have done it anyway, if not for the children. He couldn’t die that way when their futures were still not settled.

The dream of stopping this war before it began, and going home to his family, it was over. Just like Clinton had said.

Steve shuddered. He’d been so close.

He slammed the thought away. That hope was dead now. Best accept it and move on.

There were plans to make, and old ones he’d let gather dust that were just waiting for him to execute them. The children must be safe. They came first before anything else.

Bucky was right, had always been right.

The way forward was clear. He had to marry Charlotte and give them her protection when their father died a traitor and all of his assets were seized. Her family was loyal to the Reich, or at least kept up that appearance better than he did. He doubted they would, but even if the Reich did go so far as to try and seize her assets too, the house in Switzerland would be untouchable and there was money there tucked away in case of emergency. Charlotte was clever and cunning and knew how to survive in a world that wasn’t kind. She was a good friend, and the children were her kin even without the marriage. He trusted her to see they stayed safe when he could no longer be there.

Tony would not like this plan but it was all Steve had, the only way he had to be sure that he wouldn’t be leaving his children penniless and at the mercy of the Reich when he died. It would change nothing about them or any of the promises Steve had made to him. Tony would just have to understand and if he didn’t, then Steve would just have to make him.

 

~8~

_Vienna Austria, a few days later._

~8~

 

Charlotte's sitting room was large and feminine, decked out in the latest fashion yet somehow still holding all the nostalgia that Austrians seemed to favor. The furniture was expensive but strong and elegant, much like her. She’d had her drapes opened to let sunlight spill into the room. The sounds of the city outside the iron gates that surrounded her home filtered in through the window. Steve straightened his posture, realizing only as his back pained him that he'd been trying to make himself smaller within the grand room.

As the minutes crawled by he mulled over what he was going to say when Charlotte finally arrived. It had to be right and he would have to use his best German. 

"The baroness will be with you soon, Major." Charlotte's butler had said when he’d left Steve sitting in the parlor, so here he sat, waiting with all the foreboding of a tenant at their lord’s doorstep. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling at once too big for the sofa and as if it were too big for him. The urge to stand and pace ate at him and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself still. The clock above the mantle clicked on.

Steve sighed, his chest was so tight with anxiety he could feel the muscles click and shift over bone. He had a right to feel so miserably anxious and no right to complain. He deserved it. He’d neglected Charlotte these last few months and she wasn’t the type of woman above punishing him for it. As far as power moves went this wasn’t bad. It certainly made it obvious what she had in mind for him to do when she arrived.

Steve had never been good at begging, forgiveness or otherwise. 

Shifting again he thought miserably that his collar was too tight. His dress uniform was stiff, and pressed to within an inch of its life. God, but he hated having to dress up and play these games. He wasn’t any good at them. He wouldn’t do it, he decided with a fit of ill temper. There was nothing he could do to change the past and his family’s future was all that mattered now. There was no way forward but to be honest with Charlotte.

Finally, the sound of clicking heels approached and Steve promptly stood up, ready to greet Baroness Schrader as she made her way toward him. And it was indeed the Baroness who had come to greet him that afternoon, in all her refined elegance and a politely aloof expression. There was little of the woman that Steve had come to think of as a friend and confidant on her face as she smiled at him. Not that he’d expected any different.

"Oh, Stefen. How good of you to drop by," Charlotte exclaimed as she extended her hand, tone suggesting they hardly ever saw each other. He supposed that was honest. Her smile stayed friendly enough, though there was a hint of strain around the edges.

"I've been out for coffee with Miram Svader and his cousin. They're both surveillance police. Do you know them?" she asked in a seemingly harmless fashion and Steve felt his hackles rise, but took a breath to keep calm.

No, he didn’t know them personally. Just of them and what they enjoyed.

"They're good at what they do, I'm told." He answered as he took a hold of her hand, squeezing it gently. "Charlotte, I need to speak to you."

"I had gathered that, Stefen." She pulled her hand gently from his and moved away, toward the little table next to the window. "Would you like some tea or coffee perhaps?"

Steve shook his head, pressing his lips together. " I can't stay long. I just...I felt I should ask you this in person."

The cool air that had surrounded her thus far seemed to warm a bit as she contemplated his words, but she held her head up high and didn’t look at him as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"Oh, you are a hard man to figure out, Stefen." She murmured finally as she crossed to the little couch Steve was stood in front of and sat, the cushions sinking under her weight. She folded one leg over the other and regarded him silently, waiting.

Steve swallowed and sat down next to her, feeling as if his mouth was full of cotton.

"You know I'm fond of you Charlotte" he began and she smiled drolly in return.

"Oh yes, I am terrible amusing aren't I.”

"I've purchased a house in Geneva." He continued softly, determined to stay his course. Her eyes widened in response, lips parting around the rim of her tea cup. Steve noticed that there were little lambs painted in blue ink dancing across the fine china. He felt like that he thought with dark amusement, like a fat lamb being led to slaughter.

"Oh my," she finally said, taking a shaky breath. "And what do you plan to do with it?"

"I plan on moving the children there. Their grandparents have retired there, and their mother still has a portion of her inheritance there in an account with Lombard Odier in Geneva. It has 50,000 Reich Marks, I want to move the bulk of it from the German bank over as well, so that there will be enough to live on until Sara is finished with school if you are conservative… but the Reich may not allow it.”

Steve wet his lips, swallowing thickly to wet an even drier throat. Charlotte set her cup down and took his hand. Not an easy feat as he'd balled his hands into fists. He unclenched them and grasped her smaller ones as she smiled, wryly at him and murmured lowly, “No. They are not fond of large sums of money leaving Germany are they?"

"Charlotte, if something were to happen to me… my children are not safe in Salzburg anymore.” Steve implored, tightening his grip on her hands in earnest. “They've gotta be safe, Charlotte. I trust you. There isn't anyone else I'd ask for help in this." She was looking worried now. Chewing her bottom lip. He scooted closer, adrenaline pushing him forward and he noticed that she leaned away. His intensity must be palpable.

Charlotte putt a hand on his chest as she blinked at him in surprise. "Why not? What do you mean?"

"I'm not making friends much anymore." That was an understatement

"I've already been threatened by General Schmidt and Striker, and I'm sure countless others are waiting in the wings to make good on their threats. I don't know what their plans are for me, but I know they'll come for the children. They've already started. I need you to help me.”

"Oh course, Stefen. What can I do? What's all this got to do with me?"

And now that the moment had come he couldn’t bring himself to voice the question he'd come to ask. Steve stumbled over his words.

"You're a woman." he fumbled. God, why couldn’t he speak? Was he ten again? He’d never been any damn good at talking to women and holding true to form he stumbled on, "I mean, I know you're a woman."

Charlotte laughed a little and Steve felt his face heat.

"I'd hoped you'd noticed," she said, casting her eyes down demurely for a moment. The motion did not help. At all.

"No, I mean, you see, if the children leave with a woman, their mother, my...wife, a wife with Swiss citizenship, the Reich won’t be able to touch them once they’ve gone.” He explained, swallowing thickly again before he continued. “It’s the best way. Even if I could send - I cant send them to their Grandparents and I don’t want them to be alone or end up separated. You could. You would have my name. You could look after them."

Charlotte’s face had gone very still as she sat and watched him intently. It was a long moment while he waited for her reply. When she finally spoke it was slow, with a faint air of hurt.

"So understand, you want me as a minder for your children?"

Steve blanched.

"No. Not at all!" He was going about this all wrong. Beside him Charlotte sighed and Steve snapped his mouth shut with a click before he could continue making a mess of it.

"I don’t know what to make of you, Stefen. We’ve hardly spoken in weeks and the next thing I know you're asking for my hand. I thought you cared for me, at least a little, but it's all rather strange when I'm treated like a distraction."

"I'd hardly call you a distraction" Steve tried and she gave him another droll look.

"What would you call me then, wife?" She asked softly. It sounded so strange coming from her, to even test the thought in his mind: his _wife_. It didn’t just sound strange. It sounded wrong.

But Steve swallowed and nodded just the same.

"Yes, if you would, Charlotte. I'd like to marry you. If you'll have us." He took a breath, letting the air in his lungs settle him. "I know it's asking a lot. It's not your ideal... well, anything. But I'm asking anyway."

It was still in the sitting room a moment while she contemplated his proposal, fumbling and awkward as it had been. There was a sad look in her eyes that burned through him. She didn’t deserve this, he thought bitterly, but despite the look in her eyes she began to smile.

"A little house in Geneva. I think I quite like the sound of that." And then she giggled, her whole face lighting up, the sadness clearing from her expression. It did nothing to calm him, his nerves spiking. Steve frowned slightly. He couldn’t presume to know her mind but he knew he wouldn’t be smiling over contracting himself in marriage of convenience, after so lackluster a courtship.

Unless... Steve’s eyes widened as the thought occurred to him. The possibility of her having feelings for him were slim to none. They had never been much more than friends and Steve was very aware that in recent years his friends had done more suffering through than enjoying his company.

"It's a marriage of convenience. You understand? I can't offer you more than that. I wish I could," he heard himself say, gruff and not at all as gentle as she deserved but he could not find the words here either it seemed. She squeezed his hand, understanding in her eyes and for a moment Steve could believe that at least this one thing was going to be alright.

"I know, Stefen."

She smiled the sweetest smile he'd ever seen cross her face, her blue eyes shining.

"You know, I never really saw myself as the mother of seven children. I'll have my work cut out for me." She teased, obviously attempting to lighten the mood and Steve was glad for the change of subject.

"Tony can manage fine. He certainly handles them better than I ever have. I keep finding myself arguing with an eight year like its life or death," he said thinking of the little troll he called a son. He missed James with a familiar if sudden stab of longing. He’d pitch a fit at the idea of a new mother and moving to Switzerland but he’d get used to it.

"You'll like getting to know them-“ Steve began to assure her but a furrow had appeared in the middle of Charlotte’s brow.

"I thought you said the staff would be relived." she interrupted and now, Steve’s face began to mirror her confusion.

When had he said that? Well, naturally most of them would be relieved. The Hogans would most likely make their way back to England to be with Virginia’s family. Hammer and the other servants had families and lives of their own in Austria, but he’d never said anything any which way about where the staff would go.

"Why would Herr Stark still be with us?" Charlotte pressed, and there was something in her tone that Steve did not like.

"Because he's family" he answered, perhaps a little harsher then he meant too.

She pulled her hand away to brush it through her hair, her expression thoughtful.

“He’s the children’s tutor.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her. Their years of friendship had taught him that when Charlotte stated the obvious at him, it was always to make a point.

"He is. I thought you liked him. I know he has no issue with you."

That was a bit of a stretch. Truthfully, Steve had never really stopped to ask either which way how Tony felt about her, but Tony rarely had feelings he didn’t express. Loudly at that. Still, if he had to be clear about one thing.

"Charlotte, understand this.” She stilled, responding to the gravity in his tone and Steve leaned forward. “I'll give you everything at my disposal, but you share it with Tony. Tony goes with you to Geneva and will maintain his position with a set salary until either Sara is grown or he decides he no longer wishes to be employed. On this I won't compromise."

“And I suppose you want it in writing?” Charlotte laughed, incredulous, but the laughter faded from her expression when she realized how serious he was. Still she asked haltingly, “Stefen… you’re not serious, are you?”

“I’ll have the lawyer put it in the details of the children’s trust.”

Steve had never been more serious about anything else in his life. He couldn’t give Charlotte or Tony what either of them deserved, and he couldn’t give his children all that he ached to but he could give them all this. Safety and a home where they could be together. He could give them this one small gift.

 

~*~*~*~

_Salzburg, Austria, a few days earlier._

James was making a fuss again. Not a full on fit the way he used to, but what Tony liked to call one of his productions. He just wanted attention, Ian knew, and he’d do anything (even pretend he didn’t know how to dress himself properly) just to get it. It wasn’t right. Babies did that, and it just made things harder on Tony who was already getting tired of them.

He hadn’t said so, but Ian could tell. Tony used to spend practically every minute with them with some interesting new lesson planned – now he disappeared for long hours, and when he was with them he was only half there.

That was alright. Ian didn’t blame Tony for having a lot on his mind or better things to do than deal with a bunch of irritable children. They should all be doing their part to help with father gone, and make him proud that he could leave them on their own without them all falling to pieces.

James ruined any chance of that, and he did it on purpose. He _always_ did it on purpose, and he always got away with it now because he was little and Tony thought exceptions should be made for the little ones; and father liked listening to Tony. Ian knew, cause he saw how father always watched Tony’s mouth when he was speaking. He’d listen to whatever Tony said no matter what he said.

Well most times. Sometimes he didn’t, like when Tony had told him not to leave. He couldn’t listen then because he was a soldier and that’s just what they did. It was wrong of him, but Ian still wished he could trade. He wouldn’t mind if Da was in a bad mood or was quick to snap at them all if it meant he could be there.

Tony had given them free time that afternoon (again) and hadn’t been seen for hours and Ian was worried. Their tutor still had meals with them usually, but he didn’t eat much when they sat down and it was beginning to show. When Ian had heard Julia complaining that she looked stressed as an old blouse and thanking god for the espresso machine father had bought, he’d thought about how thin and tired Tony was starting to look and had gotten the idea to make him another lunch (since he’d barely touched the earlier one) and enticing him with espresso. Tony loved espresso and he especially loved it with chocolate.

James had immediately wanted to follow him and all it had taken was Ian telling him to stay put to bring on the latest melt down.

“I want to help too Ian! You’re not the only one Tony likes!”

“I’m not sure Tony likes any of us anymore what with the way you carry on,” Natacha drawled. It was true but it was very mean. Natacha got meaner and meaner the more she missed Péter and it was unfortunate because Péter was the only one besides Ian brave enough to stand up to her. Ian should, but he was tired of sticking up for James when all he did was cry and make trouble.

Ian left James squabbling with Natacha and made his way to the kitchen. It smelled strongly of cider as he entered to find Willamina stooped low to peer into the stove where Ian could see a pair of cakes sat above the embers.

She looked up as he entered, her focused frown melting away into a smile as she closed the oven door and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Master Ian,” She greeted him fondly already turning toward the cupboard as she said, “I bet I know what you want. I put the cider away this morning, but it won’t take long to warm up. I’ll even add a dollop of my spiced rum if you’d be kind enough to fetch more wood from the pile. I don’t know where Hortense has gotten off to. Probably off somewhere gossiping with Julia.”

Willamina winked and jerked her head toward the back door, which had been propped open with a bucket to let the heat out and the brisk fall air in. The man who delivered the wood always stacked it neatly outside the tool shed. 

Ian ignored the chill of the wind as he hurried to the woodpile, thinking of his mission to make sure that Tony ate at least one full meal today. Something simple would be best, and easily handled so he could keep working on whatever it was that preoccupied so much of his mind these days. Sandwiches would do, but something filling to make up for the other meals he’d missed.

The crunching of the leaves under his feet made a pleasant accompaniment to the hum of his thoughts as he walked back to the kitchen with loaded arms. He trudged across the floor toward the glow of warmth emitting from the stove and lingered next to it even after he’d stacked the wood neatly beside it. The warmth was a welcome reminder that it was too late in the year to be trouncing around outside without a jacket.

“There you go sparrow.” Willamina appeared beside him with a mug of warmed cider and Ian accepted it gratefully with a smile. The tangy flavor washed over his tongue as the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg tickled his nose. Willamina’s cider had always been his favorite but it was especially good with her spiced rum. When his Ma had been alive she used to let him sit on her lap and sip from her cup, but now he was big enough to have a cup of his own.

“Thank you, but I’ve actually come to make Tony some lunch.” Ian announced when he’d drained the last swallow from his mug, and felt the sweet hazy warmth of the brew settle in his belly. Willamina arched a questioning brow as she took the emptied mug from him and added it to the pile of dirtied dishes waiting for Hortense.

“Oh. So that’s the way of it? I slave away making a perfectly good meal and he barely touches his plate, but when he decides he’s hungry I’m supposed to whip up whatever suits his fancy?” Willamina scowled dangerously and Ian quickly shook his head.

“No, Tony didn’t ask.  And I’m sure it’s not your cooking. I think he’s been worried about whether or not there will be a war.” Ian insisted and Willamina heaved a put-upon sigh, but she was looking at him with a considering expressions which was a favorable sign.

“God knows we’re all worried. I can barely get my Gunter to slurp a soup these days in between his fretting.” The cook muttered before finally relenting.

“You’re a sweet boy Sparrow.  So, what did you have in mind for this surprise lunch of yours.”

“I think sandwiches would be best.”

“Hmm, well there’s some left-over roast I’d sliced up for Gunter, and that loaf of rye I was going to include with super. We’ve also some potatoes I could throw on for a soup.” She mused aloud, already bustling toward the bread box. Ian followed, eager to help as she loaded supplies into his arms.

“The soups good,” he informed her back carefully as she dug around in the pantry. “But Tony doesn’t like pork.”

Willamina turned with a horrified look on her face as she deposited a long wooden board and a few small jars of spices in his arms.

“What’s this? My crusted roast won six times at the Spring festival!” she huffed and Ian bit back a laugh.

“No, it’s just that I don’t think he likes pork at all.” He explained. “He never finishes it, just pushes it around on his plate.”

Willimina paused with a funny look on her face and Ian wondered at it before she sighed again.

“Alright love, there’s some beef cut up and some sour cabbage in the pot there,” she relented with a sigh, jerking her head in the direction of a large clay jar on the counter not far from a row of jams.

Ian hurried to fetch the sauerkraut, tucking his chin close to his chest to hide a triumphant grin.

 

~*~

 

There was a belief among many religions that fasting helped to bring one’s mind closer to God’s. Indeed, it was a distressingly popular notion that only by forgoing all distractions of the flesh was it possible for a man to reach enlightenment. Tony was willing to grant the idea a nod. After all, he used to forget meals entirely while tinkering away in his workshop at the abbey; but he’d emerged from the workshop at Bruce’s insistence often enough only for Farkas to turn around and declare a fast, that Tony hadn’t really bothered too hard to observe them in the past.

More simply put, he did not see the point in starving ones self to receive words, boons, or earn mercy from a god who was not there.  And yet, here he was.

Days without word. It was beginning to wreak havoc on Tony's equilibrium. He knew that there had not been enough time for Stefen to have gotten his letters and replied to them, but he could not help his anxiousness. The last broadcast from British Intelligence had not struck him as favorable. What did it mean that Wendy was home alone? It could mean anything, but Tony could not shake the cold feeling of dread that lay heavy in his stomach or the foreboding sense that something had gone terribly wrong.

But how would he even know if it had? Tony knew nothing of the resistance and its movements besides the limited role Stefen had allowed him to play. If something had gone wrong he would have sent word with Clint, Tony tried to reassure himself, but his mind was too quick to remind him that something terrible could just as easily have become of Clint (and Tony could think of numerous tragedies that could befall a young boy traveling alone no matter how clever he was). 

Tony’s stomach clenched like he would vomit. Good thing there was nothing in there.

He sighed, just about ready to give up on pretending to read the physics journal he’d bought in Berlin (or rather that Stefen had bought him) when a soft hesitant knock sounded at his bedroom door.

“Tony?” he heard Ian’s voice coming muffled through the wood and his brow furrowed, worried that some new crisis was underway. He hadn’t meant to give the children so much free time, but when he’d finally given up being able to reach Freddie at the Castle, he’d come back here to collect himself before facing the world again.

Tony set his book aside and hurried across the room, resigned to seeing what manner of trouble the children had managed to find for themselves. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when he found Ian stood outside his door looking not at all frantic or bothered, carrying a tray laden with food.  There was a plate full of delicately cut sandwiches that smacked of Willamina's handiwork and a clay soup bowl with lid firmly placed shut, hiding its contents, but if Tony had to guess by the smell wafting into the room he'd go with potato.  Though admittedly it was hard to tell what was what, with how his nose wanted to fixate on the heavenly smell of espresso wafting from the cup beside it.

"What's this?" He questioned arching a brow.

"You didn't eat lunch." Ian noted matter of factly, pushing past Tony who was forced to either give way or risk the boy spilling the entire tray in the doorway.  A purposeful action if ever Tony had seen one and the smile that kept wanting to make itself residence on his face, he let it rest.

Ian had decided to fuss over him it seemed, and Tony didn't have the heart to tell him he'd chosen the worst day to start. It was still hours to sundown... but oh well.

He watched as Ian carried the tray over to the dressing table and set it down firmly, before straightening up and meeting Tony with an expectant stare and hands fisted on hips.

"I don't recall ordering a meal." Tony pointed out firmly. He hated to sound like a broken record, but it wasn’t Ian’s job to take care of him and it was vastly unfair of his father to have placed that burden on his young shoulders when he had so much else to worry about. But getting Ian to abandon his mission was about as difficult as reasoning with a mule.

“I thought you might be hungry.” Ian insisted in a placating tone that let Tony know he was being indulged. Hungry or not, Ian Rogers had decided on his course and he wasn’t going anywhere until Tony ate.

Unfortunately, Tony's stomach chose that moment to growl loud enough to inform even the dead how hungry he was and Ian narrowed his eyes at the sound, mouth tensing with worry.

"Tony, Willamina went out of her way to make this just for you. I even made sure she used the fresh bread. She’ll be very upset if you don’t at least take one bite." The boy coaxed, gesturing to the chair Tony had abandoned to answer the door.

“That was a nice try, but I used that trick on Sara the other day.” Tony replied, laughing tiredly when Ian just nodded seriously and replied that he knew. He’d been watching.

“She’s not going to listen next time, if she sees you don’t eat your food either” Ian pointed out.

“Fair point.” Tony sighed, shutting the door with a quiet click behind him. “Though I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out the fatal flaw in your logic.”

“What’s that, Tony?” the boy asked in a curious tone, pulling out the chair for Tony to sit, sure now that he had gotten his way.

“Sara isn’t here to see me eat any of this.”

 “Gee, you’re right.” Ian’s brow furrowed deeply in consideration at Tony’s answer. “I guess this means you’re going to have to eat again at dinner time too.”

Ian’s tone remained the very picture of earnest, but Tony caught the smug beginnings of a smile that he couldn’t quite hide quick enough and the rare glitter of mischief in his eyes. Surprised, Tony barked a laugh and the grin Ian had been fighting blossomed to full body. Fondness bubbled up brightly in Tony’s chest along with the sudden burst of mirth only to sharpen once more into a sudden stab of longing.

Ian’s grin faded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You looked so sad just now.”

“Not sad… just missing someone.” As far as explanations went Tony knew it was paltry, but Ian didn’t seem to need much more than that.  Tony took a fortifying sip of his espresso, surprised and delighted by the sweet smell of chocolate that enveloped him as he drew the cup closer to his nose and the rich flavor burst over his tongue on the first sip.

He’d wonder how the boy had known how he liked to drink it, but that was Ian. Quiet and observant and so quick to take care of others.  Tony took a few hearty bites of a sandwich and swallowed before offering him a smile.

“Thank you. I’m sorry I made you worry.”

“No, I’m sorry we’ve been so tiresome,” Ian apologized with a near squirm of embarrassment. “I wouldn’t want to be around us either. Especially James.”

Tony frowned, setting down his half-eaten sandwich.

“It had nothing to do with you. Any of you. That’s first things first.” He scolded gently, willing the boy to look at him and then holding his stare when he did. “Sometimes we get so caught up in our own issues we forget how we are effecting others. It doesn’t mean we care for them less, it just means we were careless where we shouldn’t have been.”

Ian blinked, taken aback, but nodded seriously. He bit the corner of his lip to stave off a tender grin of elation. Tony was glad for it, but couldn’t help the guilt jabbing at him as he wondered if that was how the other children felt as well. Did they all think he’d been avoiding them?

“Again, I’m sorry. And as someone who always hopes to keep you from making his mistakes, I hope you will consider making up with your brother. This is all very trying on everybody and he’s not as mature as you are. It’s not always fair having to be the bigger person, but if it means being there when your brother needs you I think it may be worth it.”

As far as nudges went it was gentle, but predictably Ian stiffened, his jaw working as he shifted his eyes away, expression gone mulish.

Tony felt another swell of fondness tangled with the ache of longing and reached out to place a companionable hand upon the boy’s back.

“Anyway, think about it.”

It was silent for a time while Tony ate his sandwich and Ian resolutely refused to acknowledge the issue of James as he leaned against Tony’s chair and watched him eat with all the scrutiny of a nurse at patient’s bedside.

Grinning, Tony swallowed the last bite of his (admittedly delicious) sandwich and stuck his tongue out, and Ian’s stony expression finally cleared as a chuckle bubbled up out of his chest.

“Now the soup.” He commanded, pointing at the little clay pot and Tony snapped a salute, grateful for the return of his smile.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but that amused little smile still didn’t go anywhere.

“What were you reading?” the boy asked once he’d taken a few bites of soup, curious blue eyes seeking Tony’s once more.

“A physics journal.” Tony grunted, blowing on a spoonful of soup. He’d been right, it was potato. “It’s rubbish though. They’ve completely omitted Einstein.”

“Who is that?” Ian asked, eyebrows scrunching in question.

“He was a professor of mine, briefly, and one of the greatest Physicists of our time,” Tony replied sadly, old memories he’d not thought to dust off in years trickling through the back of his mind like whispers.

“Then why isn’t he in the book?” Ian asked perplexed, and Tony grimaced.

“He’s a Jew. So they call him a plagiarist and a fraud.” Tony explained, dull anger sitting heavy in his chest. He was so tired, and he must sound it because Ian was looking at him now with the echoes of fear left by an old memory that was suddenly as fresh as the day it had happened. Tony knew he was in the square again, watching Péter’s friends beat on that old man. Tony could only wonder at how many new memories Ian had made within the HJ.

“But you met him, right?” Ian ventured after a long moment of silence. “And he was as smart as they all said he was?”

“Smarter,” Tony conceded with a conspirator’s wink. “He was the only teacher at that school who ever challenged me. I thought he was a genius.”

Tony didn’t say how Professor Einstein had been the first and only person ever to call Tony a genius, as if it were obvious and his potential a matter of course, truancy and deviant behavior be damned. He’d confessed to Tony once that he’d been a terrible student himself, once upon a time.

The sudden sound of pounding footsteps interrupted the quiet and Tony jerked out of his memories as Artur came bursting through the doorway, cheeks red with exertion as he loudly exclaimed, “Tony! The Führer! It’s on the television, everybody’s watching! Frau Hogan says to come quick!”

Tony’s heart leaped into his throat, his first thought being ‘My God it’s happened.’ They’d assassinated the Führer! But wouldn’t Artur have said if something like that had happened? His frantic thoughts raced through his head as he and Ian scrambled to follow after Artur.

The entire household down to the last maid had gathered in the smaller siting room – the one reserved just for the family’s use and not the formal room meant for entertaining when there were guests – and it looked as if he and Ian were the last to arrive.

“What’s happened?” he demanded to know, only to be immediately shushed by more than one voice, the heads in the room barely even bothering to turn from the television box, where a news program was blaring loudly. Maria abandoned the spot she’d been sitting in beside Natacha and ran to Tony, who picked her up wordlessly and moved closer to the television. 

The news castor was reading studiously over silent footage of The Führer walking side by side with Mussolini, Chamberlin and the French Prime Minister, deep in discussion as they were swiftly escorted inside a building by stern faced security officers.

_“…which is to be returned to Germany as is noble and right. Per the terms of the agreement, all Czechoslovakian citizens will evacuate the Sudetenland by days end of October the 1 st”_

“He’s done it!” Hammer cheered, a fist raised in jubilation and the maid Hortense let out a squeal, clapping her hands joyfully.

“All of those people have to leave? How the hell do they expect them to manage that in twenty-four hours?” Hogan murmured in bafflement as the news castor went on to describe the unexpected terms of peace the Führer and the other European powers had reached, and what a historic and triumphant moment it was for Germany.

Maria clutched Tony tightly and he clutched her back, head swimming as he tried to process everything this meant.

“You heard him,” Hammer was crowing in the background. “The Czechs will clear out quick if they know what’s good for them and if they try anything our boys will show them what’s what.”

“My god,” Tony heard himself say as if from a distance. There was a great roaring in his ears to go along with the pounding of his heart. “They’ve left her defenseless. They’ve as good as invited the Germans to gobble her up.”

They had to know, Chamberlin, Mussolini and Daladier, what they’d done. They’d sold Czechoslovakia in the hopes that the beast would be satiated, and so they would turn a blind eye as Germany devoured her.

“How _dare_ you! Are you insinuating that the Führer would go back on his word?” Hammer glowered at him, rising from his seat with an expression of outrage and the rushing sound in Tony’s ears tunneled and then snapped until all he could hear was his own harsh breathing.

“But the Führer doesn’t want Czechoslovakia. He just wants the Sudetenland, and now we’ve got it.” Julia refuted desperately, ringing her hands. Pepper placed a steadying hand on the younger woman’s arm and gave Tony a very purposeful look.

“You missed the early part Tony, but the Führer has agreed he will claim no more territory in Europe.”

“Does this mean there’s not going to be a war?” Natacha asked from where she knelt on the floor close to the screen, unable to hide the hint of desperate eagerness in her tone as her eyes searched out his in the crowded room. “Now that they’ve given us the land and the Führer’s got what he wants. It means it’s over now, doesn’t it?!”

Tony froze up, wanting to tell her that it was over and that everything would be fine now, but he knew better. They all did! Why were they all ignoring the obvious? Hitler would never be satisfied with this small slice of Czechoslovakia. He’d said as much in all his grand speeches about Germans inheriting the earth. What did people think was going to happen here?!

Oh but they all wanted so badly to believe war could be avoided and saner heads prevail. So badly they would sell their neighbors and their children and anything else besides. Badly enough to condemn anyone who got in their way.

Like Stefen.

Tony’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.

Stefen was about to do something that would tip the country over into civil war and even if he survived the attempt, the people would tear him apart.

“Tony is it true?”

Ian was tugging earnestly on his sleeve he realized.

He opened his mouth to answer (anything) but no sound came out.

“Tony?” Maria’s small voice whispered in his ear, the little girl leaning back in his arms to look up at him with hopeful brown eyes. “Does Vati get to come home now?”

Tony swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know, bambina.” he finally managed to get out, forcing a smile on his face. “I very much hope so.”

 

~*~*~*~

 

Four days passed without word and Clinton had not returned to the Villa since the Munich agreement had been announced. Within days the German army had invaded the border lands of Czechoslovakia. The reports they listened to claimed Czech resistance in the Sudetenland made it necessary to subdue the whole republic.  Predictably, none of the other European powers wanted to risk their increasingly fragile peace agreement and not a thing was done to answer the nation’s cries for help. Without aide either from France or Britain, and her military bases now under German occupation it was certain that the Czech Republic would fall within the year. Just like that, Czechoslovakia would be gone.

Tony wondered if they saw now. If they were all lying awake in their beds at night as he was, wondering who the beast would turn its eye to next once it had finished chewing.

Meanwhile he had no idea where the Captain was. No way of knowing if he was on the ground in Czechoslovakia or if the plans for assignation were even now moving forward. Every cell in Tony’s body urged him to do something to protect him, but Tony didn’t know enough to do what was necessary to protect Stefen (or himself and the children for that matter) and that he could no longer abide.

Stefen kept saying it had to be that way for his own good, but the thing about that was Tony had never really been very good at doing whatever was best for his own good. Nor was he any good at doing what he was told. So really if one thought about it in a certain light, Stefen Rogers had this burglary coming.

If Stefen wasn't going to trust him with the details of his operation and its mission, he'd just have to go and get the details himself. Maybe if Tony had plucked up the courage to confront Farkas all those years ago about why his father had really sent him to the abbey, he would have learned of Stanislov’s possible involvement in their murders sooner, and maybe he could have done something worthwhile to avenge their deaths – his mother’s death – rather than sit on his ass all those years.

Well, Tony wasn't about to sit on his ass now and let Stefen hang himself around his morals. The Captain wasn’t going to sink with Austria, god damn it, and they were all going to get the hell out of here _together_ , so help him.

There was only one place that Tony knew he could look for answers and that was Stefen's study. His very locked study. Good thing Tony hadn't met a lock yet that could keep him out.

Once he’d decided on his course, there was only to figure out how to do it and not get caught. Oh, Stefen would know eventually as Tony had no intention whatsoever of hiding it from him. On the contrary, he hoped that when Stefen realized how far he would go that the captain would finally understand that Tony had no intentions of sitting on the sidelines, and was not a bad choice of partner to have at ones side.

So not getting caught by Pepper (or god forbid any of the other staff) was essential, because Stefen was hardly going to be impressed with Tony getting caught where he shouldn’t be like a naughty child.  He needed to do it during the day he decided, because even he wasn't slick enough to talk his way out of being found in the captain’s study after hours. Performing the search during the day when everyone was up and about meant he had to be quick and stealthy, which proposed a problem because there was still the matter of a locked door and nothing was more suspicious than trying to pick a lock in broad daylight.

He needed a key. In and out quick as anything and on the off chance he was caught, nothing gave someone the appearance of authority so much as a key.

Tony made up reasons to pass Stefen’s study in order to get a good look at the lock, and once to hold a torch close and peer inside the cylinder at the inner workings. From there it was a matter of doing the measurements by recall, and drafting a sketch of the appropriate shape needed to throw the levers inside. Once he had that, the rest was easy sailing, thanks to the fresh sheets of steel and the steel cutter Stefen had purchased for him in Berlin.  Cutting the key and filing it down until it was smooth and rounded took the better part of an afternoon and left his arms aching (he was going soft) but the work was satisfying in a way that sat deep in his gut, heavy and warm like one of Willamina’s hearty soups.

When the key was finished he waited for the children to go to their afternoon programs with the HJ and arranged for the laundry maids Vreni and Sacha to give the youngest girls a lesson in laundering, which he assured them was a skill that every sensible woman no matter what her class should know.

Heaven forbid they end up like Tony had, seventeen with no idea how to wash his own clothes. He'd understood the basics (he wasn't a dullard) but the finer details like what soaps to use and what brushes worked best with what fabrics and how to finely scrub a stain out of his robes might as well have been Greek. He'd been the brunt of more than one joke in his days as a novice, his pampered upbringing leaving him ill prepared for a monk’s life of simplicity and service.

So, with the girls tidily distracted learning valuable life skills, and Pepper and Hammer occupied by the weekly delivery of from town, Tony made his way to Stefen's study his little silver key practically burning a hole in his pocket.

Outside the door he took a deep breath. Thinking to himself that this was the moment of truth. There was a slight margin for error in the measurements but only slight. Too much difference and he risked damaging the lock or getting the damn key stuck, and he’d have a hard time explaining that one! Despite his fears, the key slid inside the lock seamlessly and turned with only slight resistance. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as the levers shifted with a few graceful turns and the door creaked open.

Quickly he scurried inside the study and shut the door behind him, an elated grin briefly taking over his expression. If Tony had hoped that in his hurry the Captain would leave something to chance he was disappointed. Stefen’s office was sparser than he’d ever seen it, the folders and papers that had once littered the top of the desk neatly filed away perhaps in the desk drawers or in the small bureau beside it. There wasn’t even a book out of place, as what few there were, were stacked neatly upon the shelf on the right wall adjacent to the couch. There were no trinkets and baubles hanging about either. If not for the paintings on the walls with their rich colors and lively scenery, the place would look as if no one had ever really occupied it.

Well the desk was the most obvious place to begin, Tony thought. He was thankful he did not meet more locks as he rifled through its drawers, discovering mostly log books tallying household expenses, staff salaries, and various literature from the children’s doctor and their previous governess.  In the bottom drawer there was paper, boxes of pencils and charcoals, as well as a few old gentlemen’s magazines proclaiming that a man’s cigar could tell you what kind of partner he’d make in business, which Tony snorted at and ignored much the same as he imagined Stefen did as the useless things had charcoal smudges all over their covers. He did give pause at the small worn leather book nestled between a block of canvas and the drawers edge, it’s place in the drawer and not on the shelf somehow granting it the importance the magazines so clearly lacked.

It was a copy of “ _The Sorrows of Young Werther”_ , a first edition at that, and in quite good condition besides its age. Still, the spine creaked as Tony opened her, the soft old pages smelling strongly of some sort of perfume and – no, not perfume Tony realized as he discovered the dried flowers tucked between the pages. Edelweiss.

Tony gently picked up one of the brittle stems, wondering at the discovery of the book and the contradictions it posed in the man whom it belonged to, until his eyes caught on a passage on the page.

_“I have so much in me, and the feeling for her absorbs it all; I have so much, and without her it all comes to nothing.”_

A sad smile tugged on Tony’s mouth just as a tender swell of longing tugged on his heart. He replaced the dried sprig and closed the book, gently placing the old girl atop the desk. He was learning that while one did not have to live in the past, one didn’t have to bury it at the bottom of a drawer either.  Stefen could benefit from just such a lesson.

Drawers searched, Tony abandoned thought on the book and turned to the bureau beside the desk only to discover that its single fat drawer was firmly locked. Damn, he cursed inwardly, kneeling down to get a good look at the lock. The light wasn’t nearly good enough to peer inside the key hole. He’d have to come back with a torch. Giving up on the chest for now he rose again, this time headed for the bookshelf. Methodically he went through each book, searching for hidden papers, pictures or documents, even going so far as to search the back for hidden compartments. Nothing.  Tony sighed in frustration. Nothing at all to shed any light on what Stefen was up to or how Tony could get word to him.

Well, Stefen was a rather straight forward sort. Tony suspected that whatever was left of the captain’s more secret business was either locked away in the small chest or had long ago joined the ash in the fireplace.

But just in case, he stooped down to have a look under the furniture, searching for false bottoms, and even took up the couch cushions searching for rips and tears where things might have been stuffed.

All that he found was a loose hair pin, courtesy of Natacha or Pepper no doubt, but that was a treasure find in and of itself, Tony thought, eyeing the small chest again.

Unable to resist he scurried over to the chest, decorative pin in hand and set to work. It was tedious work, and Tony was aware of each second that ticked by risking someone passing the study and perhaps hearing him. He worked as quietly as he could, methodically maneuvering the pin until he’d effectively jammed the lever inside just enough to lift the latch.

It was nowhere near as fine a job as he’d done on the door but it would have to do. Throwing open the drawer Tony eagerly leaned over it and began to rifle through its contents. It was clear from the first that Tony had found something of importance, but less clear just what exactly that was.

Locked within the chest there was a worn satchel made of colorful silk, tied closed with string. There was a faint scent clinging to it that Tony couldn’t place, a perfume slowly fading but preserved within the tight confines of the chest. Inside the bag was a strange assortment of small gold coins, flattened thin with holes drilled near their tops. Tony ran his fingers over them, intrigued. They reminded him of countless pictures he’d seen drawn in books, of dancing gypsy girls decked out in glittering coins. Maybe there was some truth to those old conceptions, if Stefen had them. Or maybe it was just a rainy-day fund for all Tony knew.  Putting the mystery aside, he gently replaced the bag and continued on his search.

Within the drawer there was also a small leather-bound journal. When he opened it, Tony found that it was full of names and addresses but no helpful descriptions to shed any light on why Stefen had felt the need to write them down or their importance. They weren’t all local either. There were a couple of English addresses including that of a May Parker, a professor Charles Xavier at Cambridge and one for Samuel Wiess.

Heart thumping, Tony flipped through the pages as more and more familiar names jumped out at him among the soup of the unfamiliar. Patrick and Mary Tuck, Janneeke VanDyne, Susann Richter, Robert McCabe.

That last name gave him pause, sending him back to the train ride to Berlin. Bethany had mentioned her father was an English diplomat of some sort. It could just be a coincidence of surnames, but Tony was leaving nothing to chance. He was as positive as he could possibly be that each of the people listed in this little book was involved in the resistance operation and Stefen had already revealed that they were coordinating with British Intelligence. Which meant that in some fashion or another the British Government had to be involved.  Since all the other names were just names to him it was as good a place as any to start.

He replaced the book, confident of his ability to remember all that he’d read within it and continued his search. Within the drawer he also found travel papers for all the children, and an odd assortment of coded letters that a quick glance confirmed matched the codebook Stefen had given him to decode Freddie’s broadcasts from the Castle. He didn’t want to risk removing them and their contents getting into the wrong hands, so Tony read carefully through each, committing them to memory with shaking hands.

They were mostly correspondence between Stefen and the professor Xavier, about the disappearance of a mutual friend and German research into superior genetics. Some sort of rescue attempt was underway, but the letters were scarce on details. They were being careful.

Besides the letters there was not much else besides a bound portfolio full of sketches. As he rifled through sketches of the children, the house, and the mountains, Tony wondered at first why Stefen would bother to lock such a thing away so secretively. There was so much love in each one of them, such attention to minor details that brought the subjects to life upon the pages. They were fantastically good, but shockingly intimate in a way.

Perhaps they were too personal in nature for Stefen to feel comfortable leaving them out were anyone could find. He was considering stopping and putting the portfolio away until he found the first sketch of himself, leaning against the hood of the old family car, sleeves rolled up and mid grin. His focus was on Harold, though Harold was not depicted in the sketch. He remembered the day and the conversation. He’d been teasing Hogan about his endlessly optimistic outlook.

_“Happy Hogan. That’s what I ought to call you. The entire world could be burning around our ears and you’d still be telling me you were thankful there were potatoes for soup.”_

Tony remembered laughing at the Chauffer’s teasing grin. He did not remember Stefen watching, either that time or any of the others. He swallowed thickly as he discovered more and more sketches of himself, usually alone but sometimes with the children or mid chat with one of the staff.

Is this how Stefen saw him? Tony wondered, finding it difficult to swallow as he drank in the renderings. This man of motion and mystery, with laughter behind his eyes and sadness tucked into the corner of every brilliant smile?

Heart thumping fiercely within his chest Tony took out another, spell bound by them in a way he could barely explain even to himself. And then it happened.

There was a full-page sketch of Tony in some strange get up facing off with a gaggle of even stranger dressed barbarians with a bold title at the top.

Captain Adventure. But why on earth would Stefen be drawing for some trashy dime magazine? It didn’t make- Oh.

 _“You look a lot like him.”_ Bethany had said, and her father was a subscriber. The Tucks had a copy of the issue in the window, but in a place that was almost so out of the way one nearly had to know it was there to ask for it. Tony’s gaze flew back to the little book of names, his mind working quickly through the problem.

Of course. Literature was closely watched by the Germans but was still one of the easiest ways to communicate across great distances. The Nazi’s wouldn’t pay much attention to a rag of this sort clearly meant for the entertainment of children and house wives. What better way to share news and ideas than through a publication?

Tony carefully slid the sketches back inside the portfolio and replaced them inside the chest, removing the hair pin and shutting the drawer until it locked. The copy of the magazine that Frauline McCabe had sent him had arrived a few days ago.

He’d been a little taken back to discover just how much the character truly did resemble him but had chalked it up to coincidence. What else was one supposed to think? But now he knew better. Oh but still too little he thought as he hurried from the study, pausing briefly to make sure there was no sound from within the hall. The coast clear, he slipped out the door and turned to lock it behind him.

“What are you doing?”

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the unexpected voice. He hoped that with his back turned Bakhuizen would not notice his struggle for composure.

“Herr Bakhuizen!” he turned once he was sure his face was a mask of confidence. “How delightful to see that you’ve returned from your travels.”

Bakhuizen met his cheerfulness with a cold stare, his eyes slowly moving from Tony’s face and down to the tiny silver key he still held clutched in his palm.

“What are you doing?” he repeated the question slowly, a dangerous edge to his tone and he took a step closer. Tony fought the urge to take a step back, suddenly aware with every sense of preservation that he had, that he was alone with someone who would not hesitate to kill him for the right reason.  Something told him protecting Stefen and his interests would _always_ be a right reason.

“I was looking for a particular book, for the children’s lessons. The Captain mentioned having a copy, but I can’t seem to find it,” Tony prattled, thinking quickly.

“What book?” Bakhuizen immediately countered, his face giving no indication of whether he believed Tony or not.

“The Sorrows of Young Werther.”

Tony blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind and watched as the first hint of real emotion cracked the cool expression that Bucky wore, surprise and palpable grief flashing through his eyes before he shut it away.

“It’s not a good idea,” the man grunted. “Peggy taught him to read on that thing. He wouldn’t want the kids to damage it.”

“Did she really?” Tony asked, curious despite himself. It seemed an odd choice of literature for a first-time reader. It wasn’t exactly light material.

“It belonged to this guy Archie we served with. Used to read to everybody. When he froze to death we all split up his stuff. Stevie didn’t want nothing but that stupid book.”

Ah. Not Margrit then. Or at least, maybe not just Margrit. Archie too.

“I see.” And it was enough to break a man’s heart. “You’re right, I’ll leave it alone.”

Tony made to move past him and exit, but it was exactly the wrong move to make. James Bakhuizen was many things but tame was not one of them.

With the swiftness of a striking viper Bakhuizen had grabbed him by the arm and pushed him violently up against the door. Tony went still as the ex-soldier leaned very close, eyes glinting murderously and hissed.

"Stay outta where you don't belong, Stark. Stefen might have been dumb enough to leave you with a key but -"

"He didn't." Tony interjected. He didn't know why, when every instinct he had told him it was better to be quiet, but he was suddenly tired and fed up with this charade. Tony was not the enemy here.  The enemy was out there and Stefen was going to get hurt if Tony didn’t help him.

"He didn't give me a key! Not because he wouldn't trust me with one - don't glare at me Bakhuizen, I saw how quickly you assumed he must have! I wouldn’t hurt him and you damn well know it, but he thinks I'm the one who needs protecting while he takes all the risks."

"That's just how Stefen is.” Bucky vehemently snarled, fingers digging into Tony's arm. “Now, where the hell did you get that key?!”

Tony grabbed the wrist of the hand holding him and attempted to pry it loose, snarling back with just as much vehemence even though he was frightened of the slightly unhinged look in Bucky’s eyes. And he had to remember that soldier or not, James Bakhuizen was _Bucky_ too, a man who would do anything for his family. For Stefen. They had that in common.

"Well that's _bullshit,”_ Tony seethed. “And I'm putting an end to it even if you won’t."

"Fuck you, he's got me! I'd never leave him out there alone. "

"Well you're a poor guard dog, because we're both here and from where I'm standing he looks pretty damn alone."

"You don’t know anything do you? Who do you think sent me here?" Bucky scoffed and Tony’s whole world tilted.

Stefen had sent Bucky? That had to mean he was still alright, for the moment, and maybe it wasn’t too late to stop the assassination attempt.

"You've seen him! Bak-Jam- _Bucky,_ " Tony stressed the name, the one that mattered (not the name on his papers, not the name of the soldier). Tony grasped the man’s elbows and pled in earnest. 

"Where is he? We have to tell them to stop. It's too risky now. We’ll find a better way. He has to see that. Tell me where he is and-"

"Listen! "Bucky barked, batting away Tony’s hands only to grab him both arms again and shake him.  "He's fine. Just stay out of shit that aint your business! I don't care how great a lay you are, I catch you snooping around again and you're going to be real sorry you ever saw my face. Do you understand me, Stark?!"

Tony opened his mouth, helpless fury making him reckless, ready with a sharp retort that would probably have seen the other man dragging him outside to drown him in the lake. He was saved by the timely arrival of footsteps and the unexpected appearance of Natacha at the mouth of the hall.

She paused when she saw the way Bucky had Tony backed against the door and Bucky quickly dropped his hands and released him.

“Natacha? What are you doing back so soon?” Tony asked, as confused by her sudden appearance as he was grateful for it. Natacha didn't immediately answer him, staring between the two of them with suspicion.

"Uncle James picked us up. We’ve been looking for you Tony. James insists he doesn't know how to pack his own clothes and is annoying Ian again."

"Pack?" Tony questioned, brow furrowing as a feeling of dread crept over him. "Are we going somewhere?"

"I was about to tell you Stark, Stefen has been asked to take a tour and drum up support for the army.  The whole family has been invited.”

A tour? Tony thought. Right in the middle of everything? But he supposed Hitler couldn’t let the so-called victory in Czechoslovakia pass without making the most of it.

“Sounds like a gas.” he said, false smile coming easier with the sweet rush of relief.

“I'm here to escort you and the children to Munich and we’re on a time crunch in order to get there before the festival.” Bucky was saying.

Natacha, who had gotten closer commented with a note of gravity in her tone entirely misplaced for the subject matter, “They want us to sing for the troops, in honor of the Sudetenland Germans coming home.”

So that was the way it was to be, the whole family on parade.  Stefen had to be livid, but Tony couldn’t be anything but relieved. He’d see Stefen soon and the children would be reunited with their father.

There was still time.

 

~*~

 

Tony expected to hear screaming by the time he reached the boys room, but to his surprise besides some excited chatter, the flurry of trunks being dragged about and drawers scraping open, all was relatively calm on the second floor.

Young Cameron was probably the one to thank for that, Tony noted as he entered the room the younger boys shared to find the hall boy assisting James with his trunks while Ian supervised Artur.

Tony glanced behind him to make sure that Hammer was nowhere near, but at this end of the hall it was just the nursery and Julia was preoccupied with getting Sara and Maria’s things together. Strictly speaking Cameron should not have been upstairs. His position was one of the lowest in the household, and if they were being traditional about things he should have stayed out of sight and out of mind while he did the houses dirtiest tasks. Tony’s father had been a stickler on respecting the master of the house of course, but as a self-made man he’d never put up much with classism or many of societies rules when it came to how the help functioned. Herr Hammer was a different story and as Cameron fell under his leadership Tony didn’t want to know what creative punishment the butler would come up with if he caught the boy consorting with the Captain’s children. With soot covered hands no less.

The older boy was telling James some story about how his elder brother had once seen a man who could juggle knives and breathe fire at Oktoberfest, and wasn't James a lucky little toad to get to go. The younger boy seemed to think so, swelling up with so much smugness he truly did resemble a toad as he proclaimed he'd heard the Führer himself was going to be there this year.

"I suppose you’re extra lucky then." Cameron replied, grinning fondly at James as he continued to quickly pack his things, conveniently distracting him from the fact that Ian was scowling darkly at them both from the corner.

"I thought your Da didn't like the Führer?" Ian commented earning a glare from James and Tony winced.

Cameron answered with a shrug.

"He’s still our leader isn't he? It'll be exciting getting to see him, and you lot getting to go up on stage and sing. Anybody would be jealous."

He winked down at James and the boy beamed.

"Ha. Told you!" James crowed, sticking his tongue out at his brother and just when Tony feared things were about to dissolve into more fighting between the two, Artur spotted him in the door way.

"Tony! Did you hear? We're going to the festival with Vati and we're going to sing!” the little boy exclaimed in excitement, hopping up from the floor to run to his side.

“Yes, I did hear.” Tony answered with a fond smile, laying a hand atop Artur’s head.

“Can Cameron come too?! He’s never been to the festival either," Artur asked sweetly and Tony shook his head regretfully.

"I'm afraid that's not possible bambino."

Artur’s face fell in disappointment and Tony was grateful when Cameron, finished with James suitcase stood to his full height and ran a hand through his hair with a bashful smile in Artur’s direction and thanked him for the thought.

“But I’ve got lots of work to finish. I better get back to it before Herr Hammer catches me slacking.”

“You weren’t slacking, you were helping.” Ian insisted firmly. “I’m sorry James theatrics pulled you away from your work.”

“I was not being theatric!” James immediately insisted in indignant outrage, voice climbing toward shrill. Here they went again. When Cameron made a hasty retreat, Tony stared longingly after him, wishing he had the same option.

When Artur tugged on his hand for his attention Tony ignored the squabbling of his brothers for the moment to focus on the younger boy. He figured it was safe enough, as there were no projectiles being thrown yet and no blood.

"Do you think Péter can come?"

Artur looked up at him with round hopeful eyes and Tony didn’t bother trying to resist the curious melting sensation in his chest. He wasn’t made of stone for pity’s sake.

Kneeling down to his eye level Tony gently reminded Artur that Péter was away at school, but Artur wasn’t about to let the matter drop so easily.

"I know, but just for a little while. He can go back to school after, can't he?" he reasoned with the logic of the child he was, and Tony found himself smiling despite how sad he was to disappoint him.

"Do you remember when we found Switzerland on the map together?"

Artur nodded, shoulders drooping.

"Yes. It was far."

The little boy sighed heavily, his mouth turning in a deeply contemplative frown, as if he were considering matters of unimaginable importance.

After a moment a look of determination settled over him and quite decisively he looked back at Tony and announced, "I am going to get him a horse for his birthday. It was awfully far to walk."

Tony did not laugh but it was a very near thing.

"That's a very considerate present Artur,” he acknowledged instead with a serious nod. He was sure there was mirth dancing about in his eyes but Artur didn’t seem to mind it as he beamed back at Tony.

“But horses get tired and that is a lot of land to cover.” Tony pointed out. “It seems Péter would need a steed capable of flight to be able to cover that much ground so quickly. Not to mention strong enough to carry him."

“What kind of bird can do that?” Artur asked, brow furrowing, and Tony shrugged, letting the smile he’d been fighting finally have its way.

“I don’t know. It seems we’ll have to investigate, won’t we?”

Since studying animals was just about Artur’s most favorite thing in the world, second only to eating sugary confections, Tony wasn’t surprised a bit at the near feral gleam of anticipation that lit in his eyes, the boy practically shaking with excitement.

"We can start with my zoogly book!" He exclaimed and Tony chuckled.

"Yes, your _zoology_ book would be a good place for us to start our research." Tony stressed the correct pronunciation of the word, but Artur was too excited to pay much attention, turning to his brothers with a cheer of excitement.

"I’m going to get Péter a bird so he can fly here. I’ve got to find the right kind, but it’s in my book somewhere, I know it. It has all the animals," he explained proudly to Ian and James who left off glaring at each other long enough to see what Artur was so excited about.

"It can’t have _all_ the animals,” James pointed out with a worldly air for someone who minutes ago insisted they didn’t know how to pack their own clothes in a trunk. “What about the ones that haven't been discovered yet?"

"Those aren’t in the book because they are waiting for me to discover.” Artur pointed out in a long suffering way. “But I probably won’t find all of them right away, cause they’re all over the world. It might take me all year. Right Tony?"

Tony rose back to his feet with a smile and nodded.

“Right. You’re well on your way to being prepared for your maiden expedition. You just need to finish learning all the big words in that book of yours and grow at least this high.” Tony raised a hand about eye level.

“There’s a height requirement for explorers. That’s why I have to eat more vegetables.” Artur explained to his brothers with another small sigh. But there was still a pep in his step as he dashed to his bedside in order to grab the heavy tomb he always kept near since it had been gifted to him.

The captain would be happy to know that Artur was enjoying his gift, Tony thought wistfully. Stefen was missing so many precious moments. Tony had to try harder to get him to see that they had to take the children and leave Austria, before it was too late and the Nazi’s destroyed what innocence they had left.

 

~*~*~*~

_Munich, Germany_

Charlotte didn’t know why she was so nervous about seeing Stefen’s children again. Perhaps it was because the nature of their relationship had turned a corner. For better or for worse, now she was their father’s intended wife and in the eyes of all those invested in Captain Rogers affairs, a mother.

She was not interested very much in motherhood, but she took the duty seriously (as one should).  She found it easier to focus on her responsibilities as Stefen’s wife, a role she felt far more suited for and in truth anticipated with great eagerness.

He did not love her. If that had not been clear before, it was clear now in the way he had handled their engagement. By rights she should have been furious and turned him down. Imagine, seeing a man for as long as she’d been seeing Stefen only for him to simply disappear, calls unreturned, and not so much as a letter for weeks. She’d had to learn through a mutual friend that his promotion had finally gone through, ceremony passed without so much as an invite, and that he’d already reported to his post.

It was a slight. A cruel and unearned one that a lesser woman would have been crushed by. Charlotte could not pretend that she had not considered tossing her drink over the man’s head when he’d come to her out of the blue with his proposal, like she was a dog he expected to find waiting faithfully at the door for his attention.

But she had always been a practical woman and there were other things besides pride to consider in the matter of what to do about Stefen Rogers.

The world had changed, and Charlotte was not a fool. It was no longer safe in Vienna for a woman unattached, especially one who had spent years active in community service and political fundraising as Charlotte had.

The unconventional attitude she’d embraced as a single woman of wealth had once made her a power in Vienna and the darling of the Austrian Women’s Society, but now it made her a potential threat to a new leadership who had shown a startling propensity for simply disappearing political opponents.

In times like these, compliance was everything and as it had been true from the beginning of time, a strategic match offered a woman protection and resources she couldn’t find anywhere else. As the wife of Major Stefen Rogers she would continue to be respected, her voice a leading one within the League of German Women. She held no illusions that she could do much of anything at all about the Nazis, but could continue to do her part to make schools better, working conditions improved, and support those politicians whom she was sure would eventually overcome the Nazi Party once people realized how truly mad Adolf Hitler was.

And if by chance, the Führer proved to be as mad as some feared, then one was left with no choice but to retreat.

The union simply made sense. Stefen’s conditions were strange but not overly difficult to comply with. She had no issues with retreating to Switzerland for a time, and keeping the tutor employed only made sense if they were not going to send the children off to schools. Making sure the children were always cared for was nothing she wouldn’t have done in any event. They were Margrit’s children after all, and regardless of what the rest of the family thought of their father the children were blood.

Accepting Stefen’s proposal was the most sensible thing for her to do, but in all truthfulness Charlotte had never been the sort of woman to sacrifice for practicalities sake alone. She and Margrit had always had that in common. No matter how practical it was, she never would have sat there listening to Captain Rogers earnest but ultimately insulting proposition if she did not love him. While she had certainly not cared for him much in that particular moment, they’d shared enough previous ones to keep a flame kindled within her heart. It was not as easy as she would like, forgetting the first moment she’d ached for him. That night long ago when he’d been lost and alone in that ballroom, waiting for the crowd to part and some ray of light to return to him. She’d thought even then that she could save him, if fate would allow.

It was a great pity that he did not love her the way he had loved Margrit, but Charlotte did not believe that anything worth getting was easily come by. She was not some young girl to be so easily deterred as by a man's reluctance. It was a universal truth after all, that men were far slower at these things. Her mistake had been in giving him space in which to forget her. Out of sight out of mind they said, and for good reason. She would just need to make herself indispensable to him from this moment forward. How difficult could it be? Antony Stark had managed it in mere months.

So, even if it was not the way she had pictured things or how she would have preferred to start a marriage she would accept her duty with grace and do what it was he needed of her and of course much more besides. In time, Stefen would realize what it was he had in her and he would look at her the same way he was looking at his children now. As if he had been starved for the sight of them.

The family was to be in Munich for the duration of the festival and travel to some of the nearby towns in parade with the troops.  Charlotte had suggested renting the town house so that the children might be more comfortable, and the adults did not have to share their beds.

That, and with the city's eyes on them, eager to see more and know more about the famous Captain Rogers and his family, Charlotte wanted them to appear as much like a happy and cohesive family as possible. She understood what the Germans wanted from all of them, perhaps better than Stefen did. People wanted to believe that all was well, and that the country would continue to prosper under its new leadership and nothing calmed that anxiety so much as the picture of a happy family. A proud man in uniform with a dutiful woman by his side, and strong healthy happy children. All of them proud to do their part for their nation.

The hunger for this particular type of assurance was keen. Evident in the way passerby on their street had stopped to gawk and point as the children had arrived with James. Charlotte could do nothing after the fact at their ramshackle rumpled appearance and the noise they'd made upon their arrival but exhaustion from travel and excitement from the prospect of reuniting with their father could be blamed. That and the lack of a proper nanny.

Charlotte watched as Stefen, standing in the front hall in the center of a circle of children, traded hugs and kisses with the youngest girl Sara for a moment more, before moving her eyes to where Herr Stark was standing watching on, expression so deeply fond it took her back for a moment.

She did not understand how Stark had integrated himself into the Captain’s life so quickly, or why Stefen should demand that she agree to employ the man until the children were grown in the event of his absence. With how deeply he felt for the children written all over his face it was simply not possible they had been strangers before he came from the abbey to be employed there. There had to be some connection between him and the captain that was not public knowledge. An old school friend? A debt of some sort no one spoke of?

Curious, she went and stood beside him, greeting him with a practiced smile she knew hid any hint of her true feelings.

"Baroness Schrader, how lovely to see you again," Herr stark acknowledged her with a surprised lilt in his tone. It was irritating, if only because he had a right to his surprise.

"The pleasure is mine,” she demurred. “We're so grateful you could arrange to come on such short notice. The Captain and I are a bit out of our depth. A propaganda tour, can you imagine? It’s wonderful that the children will get to see so much of the country and boost the spirits of our soldiers, but it’s quite the undertaking."

"Yes." Herr stark replied politely but he offered nothing further. Charlotte got the distinct impression that he was bothered by her, a similar one she’d taken from all their other interactions few as they were. That was fine. She only needed his compliance, not his friendship.

"It would be a good idea for them to wash up and change out of their travel clothes. When they've had a moment with the captain will you see that they get settled? Mathilde can show you to the room you all will sleep in." She said, gesturing toward her lady’s maid. Mathilde had generously agreed to come along with Charlotte for the duration of her journey as well as to play house keeper. She didn’t know what she would have done without the woman.

Much to Charlotte’s surprise Herr Stark did not immediately answer. He considered her silently for a moment, his gaze going to the captain who had turned his attention from the children to Stark, and it seemed to Charlotte that they shared an entire conversation in that glance alone.

"If you wouldn't mind Herr Stark?" Stefen finally broke the silence, putting down the little girl in his arms and giving her bottom a pat to send her skipping happily toward her tutor.

"Vieni bambini,” Mathilde jerked and stared at him aghast as the monk called to the children fluently in Italian. Charlotte fought a grimace. She’d forgotten Mathilde’s distaste for the Italians. Charlotte had the same mixed feelings about them that most people had but Mathilde was particularly firm about it because the dear woman’s husband had died in the Great War. She should have warned her. 

“Presto, presto. We're being asked to march. Let’s clear the front hall and get everyone settled in." Herr Stark continued cheerfully, and the children flocked to him, dragging their suitcases and lining up before him like well-trained puppies. Charlotte would have smiled if she were not so focused on Stark.

He was irritated by her request. She could tell even though he continued to smile and babble at the children in a mix between German and Italian that they seemed to understand without trouble.

Why on earth should he be so miffed at such a simple request? She wondered, feeling a bit peevish herself. She understood that Stark was not a servant, and not a nanny either, but frankly she did not know how the captain expected anyone to understand just what Stark’s role in his household was supposed to be.

He talked about the man as if he were the nanny, the governess, and everything else besides where the children were concerned, and even though any other man in Stark’s station would have been utterly insulted by that treatment, she’d witnessed how happy he was to comply when Stefen did the asking.

As Stark left the room with the children and quiet descended once more Charlotte returned to Stefen’s side.

“I don’t think your monk likes me very much.” She commented, sure to keep her tone light and teasing. Stefen blinked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about.

“He barely knows you. Why would Tony not like you?”

Charlotte would very much like to know that for herself, but she wasn’t about to ask again. It mattered very little in the long run whether Stark liked her or not.

“Perhaps he’s nervous about having a new mistress.” She mused. “I shall have to make an effort to get to know him and the rest of your staff better.”

Stefen wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the side of her brow, and even though it was perfunctory she smiled. Feelings would come in their own time. It was that way with men sometimes.

 

~*~*~*~

 

The children were a hit at the German Empire Folk Festival, previously known up until that point as Oktoberfest, the fall celebration in honor of Prince Ludwig’s marriage. It was funny, in the morbid way that life so often was, that a tradition over a century old rooted in levity and romance could in the stroke of a pen become this garish show of propaganda. Or maybe it had always been that at its core, Tony found himself musing more than once as the weekend progressed. And only when it changed to fit some new idea of national pride did anyone notice.

He had hoped to get a chance to speak to Stefen the night they arrived, but Tony had not been able to find a moment when either one of the children or the baroness was not at his side and then she and the captain had left for the night to attend some dinner.

Tony had been left with the children and Bakhuizen who had seemed happy to mostly ignore him all night when he wasn’t sending him glares that could peel the skin off an onion. Their temporary housekeeper Mathilde seemed to be under the impression that Tony was a footman with a penchant for stealing the house silver because she was always about too, watching Tony with blatant suspicion and dislike when he wasn’t busy with some chore she’d come up with for him to do.

He did them because it took more than one pair of hands to manage a house for a group of their size, and at the very least he wanted to set a good example to the children about being self-sufficient and helpful when the situation called for it. That point probably got lost on them what with Tony and the humorless Mathilde waiting on them, but Tony considered it a win when Maria and Artur had skipped into the kitchen after dinner, noticed what he was about and immediately asked if they could help.

The captain and the baroness had returned late from whatever party they’d been schmoozing at and by then Tony was trapped in bed with the three youngest wrapped around him like octopi.

The next day Tony and the children had been busy practicing, having only a few hours to get together the program they would perform and to calm their nerves. This was only the second time they’d performed in public and unlike at the Officer’s ball, Tony knew that there would be hundreds crowding the fairgrounds. He’d gotten them dressed in their uniforms and then they’d all piled into the back of the car they’d be using to join the parade line.

There were soldiers everywhere they looked, marching through the wiesn in rows as they were greeted with thunderous applause. The captain was marching up front behind a truck load of tearful people, waving and blowing thankful kisses at the crowd.

At one-point Maria had tugged on his sleeve and at the sight of her round apprehensive eyes he’d leaned down and she’d whispered in his ear.

“Who are those people, and why is everyone crying?”

Tony had looked to the soldier marching alongside their crawling car and asked, and the man had replied that they were rescues, shipped in fresh from the Sudetenland. They were there to give their thanks for being returned to the empire and be welcomed back into Germany by all those gathered there that day. 

Looking at them, Tony just thought they looked poor and hungry. To them, this feast of tents lights and banners must have felt like reaching paradise. Well worth feeding the crowd whatever story it was they wanted to hear.

Tony had put together a program for the children to sing that told a different story. The story of a different time, a forgotten era of heroes and romances that seemed naïve to think upon now; but that the heart would always ache for.

And so it came that after a long morning of speeches and spectacle, as beer continued to flow and music swelled throughout the Weisn, it was finally time for them to take the stage once more.  Bucky had been working the crowd after the last act, but he sobered up when it came time to introduce them, pride and an unusually solemn gravity in his voice as he announced them.

“And now, here to sing for you the songs of childhood, it’s with the greatest pride that I introduce to you the most precious treasure I have to offer. The Rogers Family Singers.”

Dressed in the costumes that Bucky had procured for them - lederhosen for the boys and dirndl for the girls, Tony led the children out on stage with a confident smile to the thunderous applause of those gathered in the big tent.

Natacha looked aloof, staring through the crowd as if she didn’t see them at all as she led the line of her younger siblings. Tony thought Artur was going to burst with excitement and that Ian might fall over at any moment he was standing so stiff. But none of them beat Maria, who seemed to have been taken over by the spirit of some seasoned diva eight times her age. The shy little girl who clung to her brother’s side and rarely spoke disappeared. She walked out on stage like a princess at court, graceful and practiced, ready to be admired.

She caught Tony’s eye as she turned and took her place and he gave her a wink. Beaming she turned back to the crowd, and as the first notes of Bucky’s violin struck up she opened her mouth to sing.

They sang of their favorite things, girls in white dresses and their blue satin sashes. They sang of the spring and summer rolling by, full of mishap and laughter.

_Suse, liebe Suse, was raschelt im Stroh?_

_Das sind die lieben Gänslein, die haben kein' Schuh'._

_Susie, dear Susie, what rustles in the hay?_

_It’s the little goslings who have no shoes._

They sang of battles won and loves found amongst the eildwess, of mountains and field and pride in their homes, of starry night skies and promises of loves that would last forever.

And then they sang of fall. Of trees turning their colors and cold setting in. Of soldiers leaving home and lovers separated across great distances.

_Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket,_

_Thoughts are free, who can guess them?_ __  
They fly by like nocturnal shadows.  
No person can know them, no hunter can shoot them with powder and lead: Thoughts are free!

They sang of longing and hope, and strength in the ideals they had learned in their youth.

_Und sperrt man mich ein im finsteren Kerker,_

_And if I am thrown into the darkest dungeon,_

_all these are futile works,_

_because my thoughts tear down walls: Thoughts are free!_

They sang as only the innocent can, and the crowd joined in with them. The children were loved, as Tony had known they would be. They had reminded all those gathered there that night the dreams that had once unified them all. For a precious moment in time, they were all of them allowed to be children again; easily believing that a great multitude could share a single heart. And for one night at least, they did.

 

~*~*~

 

The second day went much like the first, and the children were just as adored by the new crowd as they had been by the one before it. That night much like the first, the family did not leave the fairgrounds until late in the evening long after Tony's stamina had begun to lag. The smell of cooked sausages and beer had begun to irritate his senses and he wished he could trade places with Artur who, upon being led to the table a few paces off from where his father was surrounded by admirers, had promptly dozed off with his head propped upon one arm.

Sara had also fallen asleep, albeit in Tony’s arms. He sat with her head resting on his shoulder, warm breath tickling his neck, and watched with a stony expression as Stefen held court with Baroness Schrader.

Irritation simmered low in his gut, a feeling that he realized had been growing since the night of their arrival. His fingers twitched with restless energy. He longed for something to do with his hands besides curl them into fists he was tempted to throw at the falsely smiling man at Charlotte Schrader’s side.

Days ago he’d have traded anything to see Stefen again. He’d been terrified the man was injured, or imprisoned somewhere or worse, and all he’d wanted in the world was the chance to hold him like he’d held him in Berlin.

But Stefen had greeted him with an aloofness Tony hadn’t witnessed since his first days in the house when he’d thought for sure that Captain Rogers must be part machine. He’d not tried to find a moment alone and he’d ignored all of Tony’s poignant glances insinuating that they do so, as if he hadn’t thought of him at all in the weeks of their separation.

That wasn’t true. Tony had his letters to prove it, but Stefen was acting as if it was and for the life of him Tony couldn’t figure out why.

Releasing his frustration in a mostly silent huff of breath Tony shifted in his chair to ease the soreness in his back and wondered not for the first time in as many minutes, when they could get the hell out of there and back to their rented home. The only good news was that Bucky had plans to be away for the night (if the way he was staring down the dress on that brunette woman who’d been clinging on his arm all night was any indication) and Tony could steal his single room.

It was past time to get the children to theirs, but the thought seemed far from anyone’s mind besides his. He was uncomfortably reminded of being five. Waiting at some table or tucked away in some corner alone while one of his parent’s parties dragged on and on, for someone to remember he was there and still needed assistance getting out of his clothes.

Stefen looked deep in conversation with some general so and so and a gaggle or prominent officials and hadn't so much as glanced back at the table where Tony was keeping an eye on his youngest children. Had they been at home, Tony would have done as Jarvis had always done for him and taken the children up to bed himself and have done with it, only he wouldn’t have pretended afterward like it had been the captain’s idea all along. No he would certainly not! And if that’s what Stefen thought he was, the _help_ , the one who would just walk along behind him cleaning things up and taking care where he refused to take it and saying, yes Captain, he had another think coming!

Deciding enough was enough Tony rose from his seat with a sleeping Sara in his arms. She snuffled against his neck at the movement and he made soothing sounds at her, rocking slightly as he walked over to Bucky.

“Will you take her for a moment? Thank you.” Tony didn’t give the man much choice as he handed the child over, it was between accepting her and dropping her which considering how much beer the man had swimming in his system was almost a near thing.

Ignoring Bucky’s startled glare Tony turned to the captain.

"Stefen," he gently called the man’s name, but you'd have thought he'd gone screaming into the middle of the huddle without his clothes on by the way the conversation halted, and everyone stared at him aghast.

“Yes, Herr Stark, what is it?” Stefen asked in a clipped tone, and Tony twitched. He wrapped his arms behind his back to give his hands something to do besides ball into fists.

“The children,” Tony prompted, jerking his head in the direction of the table. The eyes of Stefen and his crowd of hangers on followed him and one of the women, her cheeks bright with too much drink, made a cooing sound.

“Ah, the poor dears are done in.”

“We’d better get them home, haven’t we Stefen?” Charlotte, on Stefen’s arm, tilted her head to look up at him, some dreamy fondness in her eyes as she stared up at him from under honey colored lashes that could have made her a star on the silver screen.  Tony wanted to roll his eyes. With that sort of expression on her face you’d think she’d birthed all of them herself and that this wasn’t just their second meeting.

“I only counted three. Where did the others run off to?” he asked innocently, even though he knew the pair had not the slightest clue. Charlotte blinked, clearly taken back by the question and Tony had a vicious moment of satisfaction before Stefen answered him with a snap of worry.

“No, I thought they were still with you. Do you not know where they are?”

“Of course. I remember now, Natacha and Ian are over by the carrousel with General Wurters children and James made a new friend with little Heinrich. They are by the ice-cream station.” Tony answered amiably, nodding in the direction of both attractions. “Shall we collect them then?”

“Yes, we had better.” Stefen’s tone was bland enough as he answered, but he was finally looking directly at Tony now, and there was no missing the subtle glint of familiar challenge in his eye or the way he worked his jaw. Tony had irritated him, and the knowledge that he could still get under the man’s skin was enough to bring a smile back to his face.

Stefen and Charlotte said goodbye to their friends while Tony saw to waking up the little ones and gathering their things together. After the other three had been rounded up, the whole family piled once more into the car, this time with considerably more room as Tony had been right and Bucky chose to stay to entertain his lady friend and instructed Stefen that it was okay to lock up without him.

When they finally made it back to the townhouse Tony did not wait to be asked to see to getting the children tucked into bed. He did not need his role spelled out for him.

Costumes were stripped and stored away, faces scrubbed and teeth brushed. Good night songs followed goodnight kisses and finally Tony closed the door of the children’s room behind him. They were so exhausted from the excitement of their two days at festival that they didn’t even protest his decision to take Bucky’s empty room for the night, halfway to dreamland by the time he closed the door.

“Stark.” The captain’s quiet voice was no less commanding for it as he called Tony’s name and Tony leaned over the railing and turned his head to find the man paused halfway up the stairs, stiff as a palace guard. “A moment of your time please.”

He heard movement at the other end of the hall and shifted his glance just in time to catch Charlotte’s lady’s maid watching him. Caught the woman sniffed loudly, as if she’d caught a bad smell in her nose and turned away, disappearing into Charlottes room.

Tony followed the captain into the house study, a generic if well-appointed little room that had none of the subtle touches of personality that Stefen’s private study back at the villa had. His heart was beating in anticipation of finally having a moment alone and getting answers to the millions of questions screaming in his head, but when Stefen closed the door behind him he quickly moved away, putting the desk between Tony and himself.

Tony opened his mouth but Stefen wrested control of the conversation away from him before he could even begin.

“Bucky told me you were in my study.” The captain announced, and while that didn’t exactly surprise Tony it did take him a second or two to figure out what foot he wanted to get started on.

“I was looking for a way to reach you.” He explained carefully, as neutral as he could force himself to sound given his days of pent up frustration and anxiety. “There had been no word from you at all. Did you expect that I would just sit there?”

“Is that so hard for you? It’s all that I ask.” Stefen snapped and Tony immediately snapped back, his temper fraying in the face of Stefen’s continued coldness.

“You ask a great deal more than that of me, _Captain_. My, how quickly you’ve forgotten all that we shared in Berlin.” He scoffed. “Well let me remind you. I am not your servant to order about and I’m not some soldier you can court martial either. I am your friend, and as such I will not sit by and allow you to make a mistake that could cost you your life, damn whether you want my help or not.”

“ _Servant_?” Stefen made the word sound so abhorrent, so foreign as to incite fury at its mere suggestion. Perhaps unconsciously he took a step around the desk, shortening the distance between them. “When the hell have I ever treated you like you were that?”

“Perhaps never having had a schoolmaster employed in her own home, the baroness is confused between a textbook and a dishcloth.” Tony sneered in reply and Stefen gritted his teeth, jaw working mutinously as he closed the distance between them.

“The decision not to hire on some temporary help here was mine, not hers. I did not want strangers around the children. I don’t trust Schmidt not to try something.” He admitted stiffly, and Tony blinked in alarm. It had never occurred to him that they might be in some immediate danger yet Stefen was making it sound very much as if they might be.

“What do you mean? What is it you think they would do?” he asked and Stefen sighed, the fire of fight that had been in his eyes-only moments before leaking away, replaced by what Tony could only call bleak exhaustion.

“What _won’t_ these men do Tony? I’m trying to protect all of you! I don’t want to fight you on top of it.”

“Then don’t fight me. I told you I would make my own choices,” Tony reminded him, gentling his tone to something more soothing, more persuasive as he found himself imploring once more. “I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you and the children. That’s just the way it is. It seems to me since our goals are so well matched, you’d be better served letting me help instead of trying to argue.”

Stefen swayed toward him as if pulled by gravity and Tony swallowed, throat tight and dry and desperate hunger burning low in his belly to touch him. It felt like years since he had touched Stefen.

But it wasn’t to be, because there was a gentle rap on the study door a moment later and Charlotte’s voice intruded. She was apologetic but insistent that she must discuss something or other with him before she retired for the night.

Tony watched as Stefen backed away from him, face shuttering once more, erecting walls of silence between them and he could have cursed.

“I should go.” He stated simply instead, and without waiting for dismissal he turned and did just that.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Hours later, long after the rest of the house had settled into sleep Tony was still awake. Sitting at the little desk beside the bed, parts of a previously unbroken clock strewn across the surface. It was a fascinating enterprise clock making. Mechanical and mathematical to the core, not like people. He’d always appreciated that about them.

When the knock came Tony went still like lightning had struck, but a moment later he was up and out of his chair almost before the last subversive rap of knuckles fell against the wood. He’d been expecting it he realized.

Stefen had been different since his return and as much as Tony tried to tell himself the failed coup and the onset of war was solely to blame for it, he couldn’t help the voice inside that warned him it also had something to do with Charlotte’s presence there.

They needed to speak about that, among other things. Tony had not expected Stefen to simply cut the woman off. It was better in fact, that they both occasionally be seen with women, but they should speak about it nonetheless. They should both know what they were expecting from the other.

Tony opened the door to find Stefen standing on the other side, the light from the bedroom spilling over his face and out into the darkened corridor. He didn’t say anything or attempt to enter, just slowly lowered his arm and stared at Tony across the threshold as if it were as uncrossable as an ocean.

“Stefen?” Tony urged him gently and at the sound of his name that lost look on the captain’s face was swept away by grim resignation.

“I shouldn’t have come.” He snapped, turning suddenly to go and Tony’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

“No.” Tony reached for him without thinking, halting him by the shoulder and Stefen stopped in his tracks. Tony let his hand flatten against his back, feeling the tension that made it harder than stone beneath his palm and let out a shuddered sigh as he fought down the strange sense of panic he felt.

“Come inside. Please.” He entreated around the lump in his throat and Stefen turned slowly, and Tony saw his own helplessness mirrored in the blue of the captain’s eyes, which were overly bright with unshed tears.

“Are you sure?” Stefen rasped hoarsely in reply. He was trembling Tony noted. There was something volcanic inside of him, a pain that had built and built and had nowhere to go but outward. Any doubt that Stefen had suffered as much as he had over their separation was washed away.

Instead of answering Tony stepped backward into the room on silent feet and Stefen followed, steps measured and slow, closing the door behind himself with a quiet snick.

They undressed each other with purpose despite the shaking of hands and fumbling of fingers that suddenly seemed unprepared for the task set before them. Both of them needed the contact of skin, the hunger for it pushing them forward. Each touch was like taking a breath, somehow making it easier to take the next until they were finally bare. 

Stefen’s hands came up to frame his face. Tony looked up into his eyes and ached at the tears he saw there. He knew Stefen wouldn’t allow them to fall even as the gruff edge in his voice betrayed the heart Tony knew was crumbling within his chest.

“It’s dangerous.”

Contrary to his words Stefen’s touch was surer now, the grip steadier as he unconsciously drew Tony imperceptibly closer. Tony answered by stepping into his space with a decisive step, closing the distance between them.

“Frankly Captain, I don’t give a damn.”

Stefen pulled him into a kiss almost before Tony was done speaking. His mouth moved against Tony’s with need just this side of starvation and Tony answered that need with his own. Stefen’s absence still felt like cold against his back, the fear he’d held so tightly to his chest making his grip on him desperate.

Tony guided them to the bed with backwards steps and Stefen followed. They shed clothing quickly and wordlessly, sharing rushed breaths between their lips like secrets, hands grasping desperately at the other as the room spun around them. The need for quiet was an insistent murmur at the back of his mind; but it kept slipping away at the heat of every touch. When Stefen touched him, his head filled with the pleasure of it till he could think of nothing else.

Or at least it seemed that way to Tony, that Stefen was the only fixed point in a great swirling blur. There was nothing but Stefen’s hands on his skin, hot and firm in their touch, and nothing in the world so important as his gaze, in all its darkness as the black of his eye swallowed blue.

As his back sank into the mattress Stefen’s hand was there behind his head, and then his larger body was covering Tony’s, heat and firm muscle pressing against every inch of him and Tony sucked in a breath in one violent gulp, like a drowning man coming up for air. It was only some buried instinct for self-preservation that had him biting his lip to stave off further sound as Stefen’s hips moved against his. His mouth roved over the chords of muscle in Tony’s throat, wet suction against the sensitive skin there and Tony shuddered, fingers sinking into the flesh of Stefen’s back, and reveled in the low hiss of breath Stefen released.

He turned his head, desperately seeking the captain’s mouth and buried the groan he couldn’t hold back against his lips. Tony kissed him with everything he had, his chest raw, the breath they shared between them too sweet and too little after so long feeling like he was slowly suffocating. They kissed, and they kissed, hungry and deep, until Stefen pulled away to catch his breath, chest pushing against Tony’s with every exhale. Tony let his trembling hands travel over Stefen’s back while he struggled to collect himself.

The story of the captain’s exhaustion was written in his skin. It stretched over his bones, making him thinner in places than he’d been only a few weeks before. There were new bumps and bruises and small patches of rash brought on by the dryness that army issued soap left behind. Was this love then? The way you could care for a body more than you cared for your own? The way you could cherish the flesh of another, and grieve for the marks of age and abuse you were not there to witness? Was this love then, the way pain and words of accusation fell away, caged behind his teeth, meaningless when he could press their flesh together and sooth? Flesh to flesh, wound to wound, and so brought together, so they were healed.

Stefen held still for his touch, staring down intently at Tony with eyes so dark a blue in the dim light they could rival a night sky. Tony licked his lip, chasing the taste of Stefen that still lingered there and took a deep shaking breath as the need deep within his gut intensified. It was the need to taste, to take Stefen in his mouth and render him undone. As undone as Tony felt inside himself.

Stefen’s eyes followed the movement of his tongue for one drawn out moment before he raised his eyes again to look into his; and Tony only had time to shiver at the intent he saw in their depths before Stefen had a hold of his wrists and was pulling Tony’s hands away from their explorations. Stefen pushed them down into the mattress on either side of his head and Tony’s breath shuddered in his chest. He held still even when Stefen released his wrists, obeying the unspoken command for stillness as Stefen dragged a hand down Tony’s side and over his belly in slow exploration.

When the captain pressed his mouth to Tony’s collar bone, sucking at the skin gently before nipping the flesh, Tony jumped, the contact sending a pleasurable burn through his flesh. As the heat of Stefen’s mouth dragged downwards, closer and closer to where Tony was hard and aching for touch, he felt the captain’s lips curl in a smile. But then his head came back up, but before Tony could vocalize his disappointment Stefen’s tongue flicked one sensitive nipple and his teeth teased at the nub in silent threat. Tony jerked, choking on a whine as pleasure and pain mingled, curling tighter and tighter in his loins as if there were a direct line between the two appendages.

The captain’s hands moved lower and Tony’s belly clenched, cock tightening in pleasure at the maddening touch, so close to where he wanted it most. But Stefen seemed completely and utterly fascinated with anything besides what Tony wished he would pay attention to. Particularly by the turn where ass met hip and the soft skin there.

There was something primitive in the way his hands marveled at the flesh, like a sculptor molding clay, gripping the swells in both hands and nuzzling against his neck like a contented jungle lion.

“I never took you for an ass man, Cap,” Tony chuckled breathily, the sound of his voice low and intimate within the quiet of the room.

“You’re soft here. Not skin and bones. I like that.” Stefen rumbled in reply, caressing the cheek of his ass once more and Tony smiled into his neck, his heart swelled with near unbearable tenderness.

One might think that having attained such wealth Stefen would covet luxuries for himself, but instead he thought of others. A man of few words and yet his actions spoke clearly; love expressed in full bellies and soft flesh.

Tony closed his eyes, biting his lip to stave off the sudden urge to sob. Quiet. They needed to be quiet. No one must hear them.

“Tony?” Stefen questioned gently, a note of worry in his tone and Tony opened his eyes once more, pleading.

“Touch me please.”

Stefen’s mouth surged against his, wicked tongue plying low moans out of Tony’s mouth with insistence as he urged his knees apart with a firm hand and settled himself between Tony’s legs, pressing them chest to chest until Tony could feel the hard press of Stefen’s cock again, rubbing against where he was so desperate for friction.

Tony gasped, only for Stefen to steal his breath again, the sound swallowed as his slick tongue thrusted deep inside Tony’s mouth. He jerked his hips up, desperate to feel Stefen against him, and his eyes fell closed as Stefen mirrored the movement and Tony swore the stars fell down from heaven.

The pleasure was intense. The heat in his belly winding tighter and tighter as they moved against each other, hands touching and breathes coming in short pants.

 “Stay,” Stefen instructed in a low rumble and Tony’s throat was too dry to so much as get out a word, though he doubted he’d have had the breath for it even if he’d had a mind to try. He nodded instead, eyes squeezed tightly shut as Stefen kissed the side of his jaw.  And then down his neck. And then Stefen’s teeth were tugging at the tender lobe of Tony’s ear as he reached between their bodies and wrapped one calloused hand around Tony’s aching cock.

Christ. Tony expelled his breath in a rush, eyes flying open. He could feel tears leaking out of their corners but he didn’t mind them. Couldn’t have stopped them even if he had.

Please, Stefen, please… he thought in a jumble, but all that came out of his mouth was a mess of hitched gasps as his fingers clawed at the man’s back.

Stefen kept the movement of his hand languid and unhurried despite Tony’s obvious desperation. But the bruising kisses and the forceful marks he left across Tony’s neck betrayed his own urgency. Stefen sucked and licked at the heated flesh he left in his wake urging Tony over and over again to _stay,_ as if Tony could have left the bed without leaving his heart behind – some broken mess of a thing on the sheets.

“Yes. Yes, just-fuck.” Tony cursed - too loudly in the quiet but he didn’t care, couldn’t care - bucking his hips up into Stefen’s fist. He felt Stefen smile against his shoulder just before he sped up the motion of his thrusts.

Release crashed through him in a wave of brilliance and Tony was glad for the hand Stefen pressed against his mouth, silencing the cry he didn’t have the mind or the capability to hold back. Stefen thrust against him a few more times and then his release was spilling hot over their skin, mixing with the mess Tony had already made and the sound of his harsh breathing punching out of his chest was beautiful in the quiet of the room.

The captain recovered first, rolling over onto his side and drawing Tony with him, cradling him close despite the cooling mess on their skin. It would be uncomfortable to clean latter but in that moment Tony couldn’t bring himself to care. He let Stefen wrap an arm around him and tuck him firmly against his side and they lay together, relearning how to breathe.

Long after Stefen’s heart had slowed against his ear and Tony’s was marching steadily alongside it he felt the captain’s fingers thread into the hair at the nape of his neck and in a very calm and quiet voice he finally broke the silence that had been hanging between them for days.

“We were all in place. Ready for it. We could have ended it all, but Chamberlin backed down at the last moment and made a deal with the Führer. The coup was called off.”

Just like that, Tony thought, hope had died. How awful that must have been. He could well imagine how Stefen must have felt. How close he might have come to taking the future in his own hands and doing what he must know needed to be done.

He might even have succeeded, Tony realized with cold creeping over his skin. At this very moment the Führer could have been dead, the Nazi party collapsed or in chaos, and Stefen would be lost to him. Dead, only to be discussed in school rooms while people who knew nothing of what it was like to watch a rot steal away everything good about your country, debated on whether he’d been the hero of the nation or its betrayer.

Tony closed his eyes and did his best to chase away the vision of that world. But still the words scratched at his throat and slamming at the gates of his teeth.

Don’t die for them. They don’t deserve you. They never did.

But those were words Tony knew would not fall on fertile ground. It was a soldier’s creed, to die for others and in that at least, Stefen was no different from his comrades.

 “He’s a fool. Czechoslovakia won’t be enough.” Tony announced instead, and Stefen nodded slowly in agreement.

“There’s going to be war. But we’re too close to the last one and the Führer worries the people may rebel, especially in Austria. He’s pushing hard now to cement their support.”

“That’s why they have you doing this.” Tony summarized.

“They want me and the children to dance like monkeys, distracting the Führer’s audience from the trick happening right before their eyes.” Stefen grit out bitterly and Tony stroked his fingers gently over his collar bone in a silent bid to soothe.

“Then don’t let them be distracted. And don’t you get distracted either. The important thing now is to make sure the children are safe.”

Stefen blinked before slowly, nodding again, turning his head slightly to rest his cheek against the crown of Tony’s head.

“When the tour ends you’ll go to Switzerland.”

“Without you.” Tony pointed out, refusing to let the unspoken go unspoken. Stefen should be with them. Tony didn’t know how many more ways he could say it or beg it.

“Too much risk.” Stefen grunted. “It’s easier to send you alone. I’ll join you all as soon as I can.”

Tony tilted his head until he could meet Stefen’s eyes, just to let him know he wasn’t fooled by that in the least.

“You mean after you’ve risked your life to extract your friends from Dachau and exhausted every last option to save Austria?”

Stefen smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He squeezed Tony tighter and Tony burrowed deeper into his embrace, suddenly feeling chilled wherever their bodies failed to touch.

Or was it just cold to think of Stefen alone, surrounded by the enemy, the last man standing on the sinking ship of decency with no one standing by to save the drowning?

“Just promise me you’ll keep me in the loop this time. If you accept that I have to know where you are and how to help you Stefen, then I can accept that you have to try to save them all.” Tony murmured hoarsely, his throat constricted by a swell of emotions he had no hope of expressing. He licked dry feeling lips and pressed them against the arm Stefen had wrapped around him, where it was closest to his mouth. “It’s because you still believe in the good in people.”

“Don’t you?” Stefen whispered against his temple, nose buried in his hair and Tony smiled, albeit sadly.

Deep down Stefen Rogers still believed that people were going to wake up, and that this war would be won by good men standing in the way of evil, but Tony knew he was wrong.

It was going to be won by whomever had the biggest stick, and history would remember them as good no matter if they deserved it or not.

“I believe in the good in you.” He confessed quietly, wondering even as he said it when the other shoe would fall. 

What was more, Tony believed in his own cleverness. Between Stefen’s good and Tony’s shrewder nature he was sure they would be able to rescue Stefen’s friends from Dachau and get the family to safety in Switzerland before things got too much hotter here. And Tony did mean all of them.

Stefen’s lips curled slightly upward, smile more in his eyes than not, as he leaned to kiss the crown of Tony’s head. Tony could have left things there, should have maybe, but since when was he any good at doing what he should do?

"Though I must say, I was tempted to believe that you were done with me already when you were so cold to me."

The words spilled out of Tony’s mouth, naked little things that made him feel equal parts small and foolish. He made the most of it, tilting his head to meet Stefen's gaze and effecting as easy a grin as he could manage, as if the memory hardly bothered him and any discomfort he'd felt as a result of Stefen's chilly reception already forgotten. 

Beneath his cheek he could feel the way Stefen stilled, and the careful way in which the captain took his next breath as his hand came up to cradle the back of Tony's neck, fingers brushing the curling hair on his nape in the gentlest of touches.

"I was trying to be." Stefen admitted and Tony looked down, trying to hide how much those words hurt, but he didn't think he was doing any better at fooling Stefen this time around either.

"Is there a reason you thought to try something so stupid?" he asked quietly and Stefen took a deep breath in and out, his chest billowing under Tony as he looked up and met his gaze again. Stefen’s eyes were full of regret, but it was the fear in them that Tony wished he could banish.

"For a moment, I got lost in a dream," Stefen began, fingers continuing their slow rubbing of the back of Tony's neck, the blue of his eyes distant for a moment as he chased a memory.  "I thought with the Führer dead that things might be different. Maybe then I'd have done enough… we could have chance at a new start, you me, and the children. The house in Switzerland, a quiet life... Péter could keep going to school."

Stefen sounded so wistful, his voice deepening with ache and Tony closed his eyes allowing the word to wash over him, picturing it all for a moment.

"But the dream was snatched away and then what? You just decided it was better we were done altogether?"

"You don't know do you?" The sudden question was full of gravel that Tony felt rumbling in Stefen’s chest as his arms tightened around him, and fingers pressed more demandingly against skin.

“Know what?” Tony asked in return, observing his face carefully. Stefen looked angry, but there was an anguish to his expression that rendered him impotent. Stefen was not a man who dealt well with powerlessness, Tony thought. It sat about as well as a belt made of thorns.

"How much I need you.” Stefen responded through gritted teeth, censure dripping in his words as he baldly admitted, “If you knew you wouldn't ask something like that."

"What do you suppose I should think with you shutting me out all the time?" Tony asked him calmly, propping himself up on one elbow until he could see all of his face.

"It’s war Tony. I don’t get to choose what happens. I thought I was being fairer to you, keeping my distance so that when… if the worst happened, you wouldn’t grieve. I’ve grieved. I’ve grieved till I was drowning in it…” Stefen swallowed thickly, his voice sounding strangled in his throat. His glassy eyes shifted away, no longer able to meet Tony’s, but he continued anyway. “But now I think I was really protecting myself. Only I couldn’t stay away. I’m not as good as you think I am.”

Chest clenching Tony leaned over to cup Stefen’s cheek in order to keep his mouth where he wanted it, whispering, “Thank god for that.”

Stefen closed his eyes as Tony claimed his mouth tilting his head to grant him better access, and Tony wished with every frantic beat of his heart that it was possible to live inside a kiss.

Somehow, Tony knew he’d always be able to find home, right there.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Moving into the two year anniversary of this story we just wanted to take a moment to thank each of you for supporting us. When we started brainstorming we quickly realized this story was going to be a war-time epic, but we had no real idea how long of a journey that was going to be. We appreciate uniquely those of you who continue to take the time to leave your feedback. As readers we know the many varied reasons why that doesn't always happen, but as writers there is nothing so encouraging or as affirming as hearing a response from your audience. You continue to give us the push we need to see this labor of love through to its conclusion and naturally beg you not to stop. :D
> 
> Secondly, we just wanted to give you a brief overview of what you can expect going forward. Would you believe we have already passed the half way point? The narrative is split into three distinctive arcs and we're only a few chapters from dropping full tilt into the third wave. If I had to give this final push a title I'd call it "The War" which should tell you everything you need to know. This is also where the story deviates the most from Sound of Music and comes to resemble what we both love most about Avengers fic. In it, you're going to see Tony and Steve both emerge as heroes in their own ways, but it's going to cost them in ways they can't yet imagine. War is dark and given present times, we both felt strongly that it was important not to hide from what made this particular war dark and so important to fight. That said, it won't be all shadows. We promise moments of light and continued fluff, as well as visits (large and small) from some beloved characters we felt would enrich the world we've created. You may have spotted a few visitors already. 
> 
> We can't thank you enough for being here, for providing us with this safe space to express our creativity and work through our thoughts on family, identity, and the importance of loving your fellow man. It's definitely the story we needed to write for us. We hope there are others out there who can get just as much out of it.


	14. November Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is here, and with it comes new challenges for the Rogers family as political tensions escalate in Austria and Tony & Steve find their strength tested in new ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the war years, AKA the last leg of this story. Coincidentally it also requires the most historical detail (which means research yaaaaay) so we apologize for how long it took us to get this out to you. Speaking of long, you might have noticed the title says November Part 1. That's right. Part II is done and will be posted following this when we get through editing it. 
> 
> November 1938 was a hell of an important month. That said **Extra Warnings** for these parts, for fictionalized depictions of historical violence, anti-antisemitism, injury to minors, and just ALL THE TRIGGERS guys. Please read with caution and at your own pace.

WORD KEY:

Shesti! No, hush kacker! : (romany) Nonsense! No, shut up and listen!

Wuzho: (romany) Clean. Sacred. Pure. This word is the spiritual opposite of unclean. Some animals like horses, hedgehogs, and scavenger breeds are considered wuzho in Romany culture.

_Excerpt from the ABC 20 th Anniversary Special_

_Airdate September 4 th 1985_

**Host:** When you first saw the film, did you like it?

 **Péter:**   What wasn’t to like? Adorable children, a singing monk. I thought it was very fun – but the play understood more of what it was like, to grow up at that time.

 **Host:** [To Natacha] There was a rumor at the time that you hated it. Is there any truth to that?

 **Péter:** [laughing] It was too whimsical for Natacha. Even when we were children she could never stand things that were whimsical.

**Narration:** _The Rogers children, older now than their father was when he fought in World War II, still tease each other as if they were in the school room._

**Natacha:** I did not hate it. But I hated how easy they made it look, as if all it took for our father to heal was a song or two.

 **Host:** Captain Rogers was a very closed man before he befriended Mr. Stark?

 **Péter:** He was. He lost his mother and our mother in very quick succession from scarlet fever. In those days it was not popular for a man to grieve openly. I suppose he felt he had to button it all up and carry on for us.

 **Host:** And he did.

 **Péter:** He always did.

 **Host:** And all the while he was carrying this secret that would have made him very unpopular in Austria at that time, and later would have seen you all possibly sent to the camps.

 **Natacha:** It was never possibly. My father knew what would happen if the Nazis found out we were Rom.

 **Péter:** it was a heavy burden for him to carry alone. I don’t know that he’d have done half as well if Tony hadn’t come along.

 **Host:** The friendship between him and your father has become such a beloved story. I think it mystifies some people. They came from such different worlds, and yet they became so devoted to one another. Did you ever wonder what it was that drew them so strongly together?

 **Natacha:** No. Not really.

 **Péter:** [Shrugging] They were very different men, but father respected Tony like he respected few others. He thought Tony was a fundamentally good man. That was important to my father.

 **Ian:**   Tony saw that he needed help. There was no help for soldiers when they came home from war. Tony saw how he was struggling, we all did, but he was the only one not frightened of it. It was always “Yes Captain, Yes Captain”, but then Tony came along and he’d go, “oh you’ve made a mess of it now” or “have you thought about trying it this way”. [To Natacha] Do you remember the fights they’d get into?  

 **Natacha:** That’s another thing the movie left out. They bickered constantly. I used to think they’d go to their graves that way, shoulder to shoulder arguing about who said what and which of them was right about this or that. Like a ridiculous old couple. That was how I knew my father loved him. You can only be that ridiculous over someone you truly care about.

 

~*~

 

_Up in the nursery an absurd little bird is popping out to say coo-coo_

_Coo-coo_

_Coo-coo_

Tony’s eyes twitched, the sound of the birds chirping invading his pleasant dreams. The children’s voices faded as the chirping of the bird took up more and more space in his mind. Something wasn’t right about the sound. It kept tickling at his brain and bringing with it a sense of urgency.

Six coo-coos he counted, until it was blessedly quiet once more. The bird either flying off or having attracted whatever female it was calling to.

Except… Tony’s brow furrowed as the puzzle pieced together sluggishly in his mind. It was October, and the birds had already migrated for the season.

He shot up in bed, realizing suddenly that he was not hearing the sounds of a live bird but those of a clock. The pale light outside the window told Tony what the clock already had. It was morning and the staff at the inn would be arriving soon. He was still in Captain Rogers bed.

He immediately turned to glance at the man laying asleep in the bed beside him. The way that Stefen’s hair was mussed and falling boyishly across his brow made him look at peace. His skin, touched with gold from so much time in the sun, was smooth and supple with none of the days worries yet to carry. Tony needed to go, before someone spotted him slipping from the captain’s room in the early hours of the morning but Tony couldn’t resist taking just one moment more to look at him.

“I should have been a painter. I’d have made a fortune selling your portraits.” Tony mumbled to himself with a small smile. He leaned down to press a kiss against the curve of Stefen’s shoulder, but when he turned to slip quietly from the bed he was startled by the hand that suddenly gripped his.

“I’ll make a fortune for both of us, selling yours.” Stefen mumbled sleepily, turning over in the bed to be able to look at Tony through heavy lidded eyes.

“It really isn’t fair.” Tony sighed, feeling his heart beat harder in his chest. “Who gave you the right to look so gorgeous first thing in the morning?”  

Stefen’s mouth tilted upward smugly but he said nothing, just continued to hold Tony’s wrist in his hand, and began stroking the skin gently with his thumb.

Tony was sorely tempted to slide back under the covers and ignore every bit of good sense he had that told him to get moving, but he knew better than to tempt fate any more than they already had.

“It’s light out. I should go.” He ventured but Stefen’s grip stayed firm.

“Stay.” He said, as if it were that simple, his hand tugging Tony back toward him.

“That’s what you said last night.” Tony reminded him. “You lied to me. You promised you wouldn’t let me fall asleep.”

“It got you to stay.” Stefen shrugged, looking wholly unapologetic and Tony wanted to be more irritated than he was. But since he really just couldn’t be, he chuckled and leaned back over to kiss Stefen soundly. He shivered as Stefen took control of the kiss, his hands moving up to frame Tony’s face and hold him still as he deepened the kiss, tongue delving bolding inside Tony’s mouth.

Damn, but the man could kiss Tony thought as he pulled back.

“You’re a fraud Captain Rogers.” He teased through hitched breath. “If Austria had any idea how duplicitous you really are.”

“If Austria had any idea what I want to do to you right now, in the light of day, the public would probably die of shock Tony and I’m fine with that.”

Tony laughed, tossing his head back, because Stefen somehow managed to look as petulant as Artur when Tony refused to let him have any more sweets before bedtime.

“Why are you laughing?” Stefen asked, brow furrowing all the deeper in consternation and that just made Tony laugh harder.

“You had me, until you started looking just as pouty as your seven-year-old.” Chuckling, Tony forward once more and smacked a fleeting kiss against his lips. “And I’ll be damned if I swing from the gallows because I couldn’t resist _that_ face.”

“They don’t hang people from gallows anymore Tony,” Tony heard Stefen grumbling as he got up from the bed and stooped to begin collecting his discarded clothing. “And to my memory, you’ve not resisted Artur’s pouty face once. I don’t see why you have to start now.”

Tony was about to reply when the sound of footsteps on the stairs, followed by the familiar humming of the inn keepers’ wife, seeped through the door. He and Stefen went still, waiting to see where the woman was headed. They heard her humming quietly to herself and the clanging of the bucket and mop she carried to wash the floors, and breathed a sigh of relief when she passed the Captains door and kept going.

‘That’s why!’ Tony mouthed, giving Stefen a stern glare as he rose with his clothes bundled in his arms. But he didn’t resist it at all when Stefen caught his arm again and tugged him down until their mouths met once more.

This kiss was not as seductive as the others. It was deep and tender, and if it lingered, it was only because he seemed desperate to savor it. That was a feeling Tony knew all too well, and Stefen was not the only one to blame for how slow their lips were to part this time or how close they remained when they paused for breath, just staring into one another’s eyes.

“I need you.” Stefen admitted baldly, the words soft as a whisper, but holding so much weight Tony’s knees felt like they might buckle in that moment. “Don’t go away.”

Tony let the bundle in his arms fall, allowing his weight to sink down on the bed once more as he took Stefen’s face between his hands and rested their brows together.

There was so much he wanted to say. Needed to say, Tony thought as he took a deep shaky breath in and let it out slowly.

But for once, words just simply failed him.

 

~*~*~*~

Dear Tony,

I’m sorry I did not have time to inform you of my recent departure from St. Péter’s. The abbot was kind enough to forward your letters to me. You can write to me at the address on the envelope and we will have to pray that the Warden proves more diligent in his oversight of the mail in the future. 

Please don’t be alarmed that I am writing to you from Dachau. I have not been arrested, as our poor brothers in the faith recently were at Engelzell Abbey, after refusing to hand over a family of gypsies who sought sanctuary within their walls.

No, I am here on the Abbot’s errand and hopefully God’s as well.  There have been unspeakable rumors of mistreatment the prisoners have faced here at Dachau. Cardinal Rossi wrote all the way from Rome to urge the Abbot to intercede on behalf of the Church. Together we journeyed to Dachau to investigate these rumors (myself to take notes).

We did not find evidence of ungodly practices or experiments during our initial visit, but they were well warned before we arrived and there were many sections of the camp we were not allowed to enter. Even now that I am posted here as chaplain for the imprisoned clergymen - one of the Abbots hard-won concessions - I am confined to my designated rooms.

The prisoners starve and grow sick. I hear their screams and their cries at night, and a sinful rage builds within me. To think that these men now suffer for the very acts of mercy that define their faith is unspeakable.

It is clear that the Führer does not even fear God anymore. But there is hope, as censure comes down from the Holly See and the eye of the church narrows upon him, that the Führer will be forced to see reason and release the good brothers of Engelzell. Unfortunately, we can do nothing else for the other poor wretches imprisoned here.

May God have mercy on them, and all of us.

Bruce.

~*~*~*~

“As a visible sign of gratitude of the German nation to children-rich mothers, I establish this Cross of Honor of the German Mother, to be awarded to genetically fit, politically reliable, and socially worthy German mothers.” -Adolf Hitler, December 1938

_-_

_Frankfurt Germany, October 1938_

“She’s so good with Oliva. You must be so proud, and so sad that you will lose her soon.” Frau Greer simpered up at Steve, one hand still tenderly cupping the blue eyed infant that Natacha was holding. The baby was Frau Greer’s second child. She was eighteen years old, married to Hershwold Greer, Frankfurt’s newly appointed Chief of Police.

“I don’t understand. Are you going somewhere?” Steve asked Natacha through a stiff smile, trying to make his voice sound light. On his arm Charlotte laughed gayly, instantly putting Frau Greer and her friends at ease.

“She means when Natacha is married darling,” she whispered in his ear, loud enough for the benefit of the others, and there was more giggling as Steve’s expression blanched.

“I think there’s a few years before we have to worry about that.”

“Fathers are all the same aren’t they? You’ll always be a child in his eyes.” Faur Greer whispered conspiratorially at Natacha with a wink. “But you’re a natural with my Oliva, and I’m sure you’re eager to have one of your own. My life hasn’t been the same since I had my first. It’s just like the Führer says. Children are what make us noble. A woman should do everything she can to bring children into the world. The more the better.”

“She’s a good age for it, don’t you agree Major?” Frau Greers sister, or cousin, or something or another asked.

Steve wanted to ask the woman if she were insane. He must have lost control of his expression because he could feel Charlotte tense against him and saw the way Frau Greer and her circle of clucking hens drew back, as if he were growing larger and more threatening right before their eyes of them.

“A man with seven children to his credit can hardly afford to be making that face Stefen,” Tony quipped, appearing at Steve’s side suddenly. Steve felt his cheeks heat in a prickle of embarrassment. He shot Tony a look, but it was hard not to laugh when he saw the mirth dancing in the monk’s eyes and the exaggerated smirk he wore. 

The crowd around them tittered, relaxing as their focus shifted from Steve to Tony as the monk leaned to smile down at little Oliva Greer, tickling the baby’s chin until she smiled gummily at him.

“But I think you are wise Frau Greer, in that a father does not like to think of his daughter pursuing motherhood – no matter what her age. We’ll just have to forgive how seasick your father looks, won’t we Natacha?”

“Yes,” Natacha agreed immediately. Her smile was pleasant and conspiratorial as she kissed the baby’s plump cheek once more. “Out of kindness I think I shall spare him for a few years more.”

Tony chuckled and said something about what a kind and considerate daughter she was, and everyone treated it as if it were all some joke. As if it were perfectly normally to be discussing his little girl having children before she’d even bled for the first time.

She hadn’t had she? It suddenly occurred to Steve that he had no idea whether Natacha had started her cycles or not, and no strong conviction that she would tell her father such a thing even if she had. He didn’t think she’d tell Tony either. No matter how fond she was of the man, he was still a man and she’d be mortified to discuss something like that with him. She might have told Virginia. Steve hoped that was the case. It made him sick to his stomach, realizing that his daughter had no one to help her when it came to womanhood and the things that came with it.

Glancing at Charlotte, Steve’s expression softened. Selfish as it was to tie her to his family when he couldn’t promise her the love she deserved, it was good that Natacha would have someone now.

Steve had not set out intending on keeping the truth from Tony about his engagement to Charlotte.  He wanted to tell the children first. That felt right to him. After all, it was them who would be getting a new mother and who may be stuck with the woman if the worst of what Steve feared came to pass. They should be his first priority. But Steve couldn’t find a right time to tell them either.

Between the rallies and the marches scheduled along their route, invitations poured in for dinners, lunches and teas from every prominent party member in the area. Charlotte fielded through the requests like a seasoned secretary, denying most with a politician’s smoothness, and arranging their schedule around those who could not be refused. And it wasn’t just Steve’s presence that was sought after.

Over half of the invitations that came included the children, people eager to foster friendships between their own children and his, eager to say they’d had the Rogers children sing at this party or that party, and with more and more frequency, people eager to discuss setting his older children on the right path with prosperous and politically appropriate matches.

It helped that Péter was away at school. Once they learned that he was a ‘scholarly sort’ and would likely be in Switzerland all through university, most of the women who felt they just had to talk to him about how eager their daughters were to embrace motherhood backed off; but there was no halting those who wanted to congratulate him on Natacha’s beauty and strength of character, and to ask whether or not she had her heart set on anyone. As if they believed at twelve years old her head was only filled with thoughts of how quickly she could hold a baby in her arms, and that any of them cared in the first place what her heart wanted.

~*~

Coming home from the Greer’s that night Steve was exhausted. All he could think about was putting the children to bed and settling down in the sitting room with the strongest cup of coffee Tony could make him. They’d talked long into the night just that way the night before. It had been pleasant. Even more pleasant bringing Tony into his bed once the house around them had settled.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Charlotte murmured from the passenger’s seat as Steve drove the family back to the inn that was hosting them. The innkeepers had given them all four of the available rooms, proud and happy to boast that Major Rogers and his family were staying with them. The army had ordered it of course, but Steve had insisted on paying them anyway for their trouble.

“What?” Steve startled, shifting in his seat as he focused on her.

“You had such a look on your face just now. Soft.” Charlotte murmured thoughtfully. “I’d give more than a penny to know what puts a look like that on your face.”

Steve chanced a glance in the rearview mirror and saw that Tony, although he was sandwiched between the children with Sara asleep in his lap and Artur using his shoulder as a pillow, was listening. His gaze met Steve’s in the mirror and though he didn’t say a word, Steve got the feeling that he knew exactly what Steve had been thinking about.

He felt heat prickle up his neck and shifted again, clearing his throat.

“I was thinking how happy I’d be if we never had to see any of those people again. This whole thing is crazy.”

Charlotte chuckled, a sound more genuine than any he’d heard come from her all day while they’d been in the public. It made him smile.

“I thought I’d have to leave when Annett Greer started getting misty eyed at the Führer’s promises to start awarding women for having children.” She reminisced with a small naughty grin that made her look like the young girl Steve had met all those years ago, who used to hang on her older cousins every word. “I hear they are to start receiving medals and preferential treatment at stores.”

“Medals for child bearing?” Tony asked incredulously from the backseat and Charlotte nodded.

“Bronze if you have four children. Silver if you have six and gold if you have more than eight.” Natacha recited in a very controlled tone. She was staring out the window at the rain that had not let up, looking very small and girlish still in Steve’s eyes, in her coat and stockings. He didn’t understand how anyone could look at her and see anything but a child.

“They haven’t announced it yet, but Frauline Werner told me. She also said the Führer promises to be godfather to the tenth child born in every family. If I’m very diligent to my duty, maybe soon I’ll be able to say that my child is godchild of God’s chosen leader.”

Steve gritted his teeth, fighting the words that leaped to his tongue that he’d rather see his daughter dead first. What kind of father would say something like that? He thought, as shame flooded through him. And how could he mean it?

Because sick as it made him feel, Steve knew how much he meant it.

“I’d still rather have a dog,” Ian mumbled into the stark silence within the car, and it was silent a moment more before Tony started to laugh and Charlotte cracked, covering her mouth with her gloved hands as her shoulders began to shake.

“Well I would.” Ian insisted stubbornly, hunching his shoulders defensively. “They’re better than babies. Don’t you think so Da?”

“I don’t, but I’ve had seven babies, as Tony likes to keep pointing out. So, I’m a little biased towards them,” Steve answered with a chuckle and Ian sighed, accepting the wisdom in those words easily.

“Still, it’s silly to push motherhood on a girl so young.” Charlotte clucked, glancing back at Natacha. “I think we could all do with a bit of a break. How much longer do you think they will keep you on the road?”

“For weeks yet.” Steve grunted, sobering at the thought. “You don’t need to tag along to every destination, Charlotte. If you need to go home for a while I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Charlotte waved the words away with a light laugh.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. My aunt is there to keep an eye on things. Besides, being with you holds off the lecture I’m sure she has prepared for me.”

Steve tried to smile for her, but it was difficult when he knew she was only making the best of things for his sake.

“I was hoping we might get some respite to go home while Péter’s on break. I’ve told them it’s his birthday but they don’t seem very sympathetic.”

“It’s a shame. We’d talked about having a party for him,” Tony sighed and Charlotte hummed in thought.

Steve glanced at her warily. They’d been friends long enough for him to know what she looked like when she was plotting. Peggy used to get a similar look just before she found some way to make trouble.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, almost scared to.

“I’m thinking that it would be a shame to miss Péter while he is home. And it’s so close to when dear May is to come visit. Let me talk to Herr Schmidt. What the officials want is for you to put on a show Stefen, and there is no spectacle so wonderful as a party. And I do throw such gay parties.”

Steve could not think of a suitable reply. Charlotte could be a very persuasive woman but he doubted even she could bully Schmidt into granting him leave after how sore he’d been over the Abwehr snatching him away for private use just before he was to begin his tour. He reached one handed and patted her hand, because it seemed like something a husband should do when his wife tried to support him.

It was too dark in the automobile to tell for sure but Steve thought Charlotte looked amused before she turned her hand and tangled their fingers together.

Steve couldn’t help but glance at Tony in the rearview, but Tony was no longer looking at him at all. He was staring out the window with an emotionless expression that made Steve’s gut churn. It was the first time all night that Steve thought Tony looked distant from everyone else, like his body was present but his spirit had already begun to wander someplace else. If Tony were Rom, Steve’s mother would have said in that knowing way she had, _“When the spirit goes, it is not long before the body follows”._

~*~

Steve could tell the moment they arrived at the inn that he was not going to get the quiet night he’d been yearning for all evening. Bucky was sitting on the front steps, back from his travels and his face was telling Steve that he had news.

A stab of frustration went through him and he struggled not to outwardly snarl as the children slowly tumbled out of the car to sleepily greet their uncle and take their coats off at the door. Bucky took a moment for each one, and to greet Charlotte but it wasn’t long before he turned to Steve and said the dreaded words.

“We need to talk.”

 Steve nodded, and Charlotte said her goodnights. The children began to make their way to bed with Tony’s gentle prodding.

“Tony,” Steve called at his disappearing back, wincing at the snap of irritation in his tone. He didn’t know what he was irritated _with_. Was it the loss of a warm fire and the comfort of Tony’s presence while they ordered their thoughts into something less like a storm; or the loss of any chance of having Tony in his bed that night, and having no thoughts at all but for how to make a night go on forever?

Both he realized, gritting his teeth.

Tony turned at the edge of the stairs and waited, one brow arched in question and Steve had the flicker of thought that though he still looked distant, there was a hint of anger beneath the coolness of his expression.

Good, he thought. If Tony was angry at least it meant he was there. Steve would do just about anything to keep him present he was realizing as he heard himself say, “Come to the study. This concerns you.”

Steve rigidly ignored Bucky’s eyebrows shooting up. Charlotte paused on her way up the stairs to stare curiously back at them.

“Is everything alright?” she called down and Steve mustered up what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Everything is fine.”

 

~*~*~T~*~*~

 

Everything was not fine. Tony could make a very long list in his head of all the things that were very much ‘not fine’ right now and at the top, almost superseding the German aggression in Czechoslovakia and the increasingly hostile anti-Semitic rule of law in Germany, was Baroness Schrader and her fine pink little fingers wrapped around Stefen’s.

Yes. Tony understood that he must be seen as available to women, and that Stefen especially had a role to play in the propaganda of what good men with happy homes looked like in Hitler’s Germany. Yes, he understood intellectually that with a war on their doorstep, one little woman holding his lovers hand was nothing. But alas, it did not feel like nothing. It felt like a very big, and very hungry, something in his chest that he could not shake loose.

He knew all about the seven deadly sins. The Abbot always had taken too much delight out of forcing Tony to receipt the scriptures on them as part of his punishments, knowing that they’d be stuck in Tony’s memory whether he wanted them there or not.

Most of Tony’s memories stayed locked away in his mind, exactly in whatever box he put them in - but sometimes they rattled their cages and leapt up with life of their own to taunt him.

_Wrath is cruel, anger is overwhelming, but who can stand before jealousy?_

‘You are being ridiculous’ he thought to himself as he followed Stefen and Bucky into the cozy little room that served as a study for the inn. It was right off the parlor, with a set of wide doors that opened out and made the whole space seem inviting and bigger than it actually was.

Stefen had been nothing but attentive since his one disastrous attempt to hold Tony at arm’s length, he reminded himself staunchly, trying to cast off the black mood that had settled over him. And Stefen agreed fervently with Tony that it was a foolish experiment best never repeated. Charlotte was a trinket. What small, petty, sort of creature could find it within himself to be jealous that she held Stefen’s hand when he had held that and a scandalous lot more?

Stefen closed the doors of the study behind them, making the space suddenly feel cramped and over stuffed with furniture but the action made Tony straightened up with wariness. Stefen was making as certain as he could that they would not be overheard, which meant this wasn’t about the children.

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, breaking the tense silence within the room and Bucky made huffing sound and crossed his arms.

“Do you really think he should be here for this?” he asked Stefen, pointedly ignoring Tony. Curiosity piqued, Tony pushed aside the issue of Charlotte and carefully scrutinized Stefen. He looked the same as he had when they’d left their lodgings that morning, that was to say stiff in the shoulders with a permanently tense expression. A far cry from the loose-limbed man with the sinfully long eyelashes he’d left sleeping peacefully in bed before the sun rose, but a familiar sight nonetheless.  And yet Tony was certain that something was wrong.  He could not explain it. Just a sixth sense. A Stefen sort of sense, that was surprisingly fine tuned to the almost frantic energy he was exuding.

“Stefen?” Tony prompted gently, drawing close to lay a hand on his arm. Tony felt the muscles beneath his sleeve tense, only for Stefen to twist his arm until his hand could grasp Tony’s wrist. Tony’s heart slammed in his chest as Stefen’s eyes met his. The captain’s grip was unforgivingly firm, but it was Bucky he turned and spoke to.

“Report?” he asked, as if the three of them weren’t whispering in the dark with only the occasional flash of lightning to illuminate them, and he weren’t clutching to Tony’s sleeve like a lifeline. If Bucky thought anything about that was strange he didn’t say so, though he stared long and hard at Stefen in a silent battle of wills, communicating in that wordless language all their own that two people built over a lifetime together.

“He already knows.” Stefen admitted aloud and Bucky chuckled humorlessly.

“Of course he does. Well it’s not good news.” Bucky finally grunted. “They’ve set an execution date. They’ll announce it in a couple of days, but our guy is certain of it. They mean to kill Erik and Lucas. No one is sure about Richter. They think they’ll spare him because he’s German.”

Tony realized immediately the magnitude of what was happening, if not the full meaning behind what was being said. This was about the resistance effort. More specifically the rescue attempt that was under way for Wanda and Pietro’s father and Susann’s husband. Stefen had promised not to leave him in the dark, but still Tony had not expected this level of transparency. His heart was thudding hard within his chest with a dizzy thrill of anticipation that was at complete odds with the sense of dread hanging over the room.

It was strange to feel so happy in the middle of so much misfortune but he couldn’t seem to help that feeling any more he could his distaste for the Baroness.

“When will they execute them?” Stefen was asking.

“Wolfe can’t know for sure. There’s an inspection scheduled next month. He thinks they’ll do it then, make it a show for Goring.”

“Then we have to get them out before then.” Stefen responded in a grave tone.

“We’ve got a truck and ammunition. Wolfe will handle the diversion but we’ll only have a window of thirty minutes to get in and get out. Coulson’s got their paperwork sorted with the British embassy. They’ll have full asylum if we can just get them on British soil.” 

“Can we count on Kirk?” Stefen asked. “Kirk captains a merchant ship. He has helped us in the past.” He explained, turning slightly toward Tony. Tony nodded, mind working quickly to track the conversation. He remembered the name.

“You took the twins to meet his ship in Belgium.” He recounted and Stefen nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

“Vienna is too dangerous. Kirk won’t put his men in danger by going back there. The closest he can meet us is their stop Budapest. We get them on the ship, he’ll take it from there.” Bucky answered the question with a grim expression and Tony’s stomach tightened with unease. The pieces were coming together and not putting together a very pretty picture. Thirty minutes, Steve and Bucky with three escaped prisoners in uncertain condition, and miles between them and safety.

“We’ll get them there.” Stefen declared in a tone that conveyed certainty. As if there was no other outcome possible. It would be, simply because Captain Rogers willed it to be.

"It's over seven hundred miles between Dachau and Budapest." Tony pointed out, trying to keep some of the panic he felt out of his voice and hearing it bite instead. Stefen turned and looked at him with a flat expression, and said, "We know the dangers Tony.  But we can't leave those men there to die."

"Better to die chased down by the SS?" Tony scoffed.

Bucky, ever antagonistic, shrugged and grunted a simple yes. Tony resisted the urge to kick them both.

"It will be all right, Tony,” Stefen said in this infuriatingly gentle tone, like Tony was some fretful woman.  Tony rolled his eyes, frustrated realizing that Stefen was only making good on his promise to keep Tony from worrying. “I didn't bring you here to try and talk us out of it-" Stefen began with the familiar firmness of command and Tony waved him to silence with an exasperated sigh and interrupted.

"I wouldn’t waste my breath, trying to convince you not to stick your neck out against impossible odds. I'm trying to convince you to do it with some intelligence!” He snapped. “Any number of things could go wrong in a thirty-minute time window, and they'll be after you regardless as soon as someone notices three prisoners missing! They'll set up road blocks. They'll gun you down. You can't possibly hope to make it by road. "

"Then what do you suggest we do Stark, fly?" Bucky sneered, but if Bakhuizen thought Tony was going to start wilting just because Stefen's best friend wasn't his biggest fan he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"Not a bad suggestion but I don't have time to build an aircraft. Besides they watch the airspace."

Bucky's befuddled expressions and subsequent blink of shock was almost comical.  But Tony ignored it in favor of imploring Stefen, whose mouth was twitching now in amusement, "But I can build you a boat. The river Danube runs close to Dachau, doesn't it?"

Stefen nodded, brow furrowing thoughtfully. "The Amper connects to the Danube. It flows all the way down to Budapest."

"Leave by the river.” The Tony declared, the solution coming to him with sudden clarity. He could see it all now. “They won't expect it. Even if they do they'll be on foot. You'll have a head start, the best engine I can make you and you won’t be leaving a trail they can easily follow."

For a moment it was still within the room while Bucky considered him with an expression caught halfway between awe and suspicion and Stefen appeared to turn the idea over silently in his head.

"You're brilliant Tony." Stefen exclaimed just when the silence seemed to drag too long. The smile blooming on his face was radiant even within the dark of the room. And then, unthinkably, he’d grabbed Tony by both cheeks and pressed a feverish kiss against his lips.

Tony stood there, too shocked to do anything else. Bucky jerked as if someone had jabbed him with a fork, his expression stricken. He snapped something sharply in the gypsy tongue and Stefen pulled away, but his eyes stayed locked with Tony’s for a moment that seemed to linger for a lifetime in Tony’s mind.

He seemed oblivious to the harsh string of words pouring out of Bucky’s mouth. Tony was less so. Bakhuizen wasn't throwing punches or doing any of the things Tony would expect someone to do when two men were brazen enough to embrace in front of him.

But still, Bakhuizen did look as if he wouldn't mind beating both of them. Tony could be forgiven for taking a wary step back from the man as he continued to spit what were probably curses at Stefen in Romany.

"It could work Bucky." Stefen said, this time in plain German and Bucky shouted back.

“I know it will work! Don’t try and change the subject. You pull another stunt like that, I swear Stevie I will shoot you myself!”

And Tony couldn’t help it. He moved to step in front of Stefen because Bucky looked serious. He looked half crazy, like a wounded dog backed into a corner snarling and snapping at anyone who got too close, and Tony would always put himself in front of Stefen and danger.

It was exactly the wrong thing to do though because Bucky’s eyes snapped to him as soon as he moved and Tony knew in an instant what would happen. If Bucky was a cornered dog, then he was about to bite.

Except Stefen’s hands were on his shoulders and then there was pressure on his chest and he was being pushed away. And then it was Stefen standing between him and Bucky, staring the other man down with an expression made of stone.

He barely turned to look at Tony when he told him he should go.

“No.” Tony instantly denied, heart still slamming away in his chest. “I’m not leaving you alone with –”

“Shut up Stark!” Bakhuizen snapped, sounding like he was all but at his breaking point. “I have every right to shoot him. I’m the only one. I’d do it a hundred times before I ever let the damn _Gestapo_!”

It was the way that Bucky spat the word gestapo, with such raw ache behind it, that finally convinced Tony that for once, it was better to do as he was told.

He didn’t doubt that Bakhuizen was devoted to Stefen, but absolute devotion was absolute. It made a man’s spirit tremble and his teeth gnash, but kept his hands steady as he pulled the trigger.

Sometimes, devoting your life to another person was a promise that they’d never die in hands that did not love them.

 

~*~

_Dear Nik,_

_This letter is to inform you that its carrier, my personal solicitor, has been authorized to collect my intellectual property from your premises in my absence. Martin has been given a descriptive and very detailed list of the machines and tools he can expect to collect for me._

_I am confident his visit will go smoothly and that you will see that all is accounted for._

_Undoubtedly as well as regrettably yours,_

_Tony_

_~*~_

Dear Bruce,

I know these words will ring as hypocritical coming from me, but I implore you to be careful and keep your head low. Farkas may be seasoned at these games of politics and lies, but you have always been a much simpler man. And I think better for it.

It pains me to think of you at a place like Dachau, instead of cloistered in the abbey library on in the garden with your herbs and your bees.

Artur will be quite disappointed we’ll have to postpone our field lesson to see your highly praised hives. We are going to make our own protective clothing. Any tips you can provide on the latter is appreciated.

As for the poor brothers who now find themselves at the mercy of “God’s chosen leader”, I can only pray that the god you have devoted so much of your life shows them the mercy you seek, and that the cardinal is able to bargain for their release. There is little mercy to spare these days.

With love,

Tony.

 

~*~*~*~

Charlotte proved just as persuasive as she promised. Whatever she’d suggested in her letter to the brass they suddenly saw every reason in the world for the Rogers to return to Salzburg in order to celebrate with Péter. Tony and the children were sent ahead at the captain’s insistence, and even that request was met with minimal fuss. He supposed it was hard for anyone to deny a woman concerned with the education of children, but anyway, Tony didn't care so much what their reason was. Only that for now the family got to take a break from the public tour and that they could all be there to welcome Péter when he arrived home for break.

Stefen would have to follow later but he'd promised not to miss picking Péter up from the train. Tony believed him, but he had very mixed feelings about leaving Stefen and the Baroness in Nuremburg.  He was jealous of the woman he could admit that, but more than that he did not like to leave Stefen out of his sight knowing what he was involved in and the constant risk of discovery.

But it couldn’t be helped, and now he had his own part to play. He’d anticipated the arrival of his order from Fabel’s Metals the entire journey home. It was due for delivery days ago. Cameron’s father Joshua had agreed to come from the village to lay a new floor and assist Tony with making the space work ready. They would need to work quickly, because if Tony was going to do as he’d promised and build the captain a get-away vessel for his rescue mission he didn’t have a lot of time.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long when they arrived back at the villa that they were greeted by Pepper, who informed him promptly that the order had come just as expected. They could ring Joshua Klein and have him out there the very next day.

Herr Klein ran a small masonry business that serviced mainly the local villages and a few larger contracts within the city. He and his family had immigrated from Poland when he was a young boy, but they’d lived in Salzburg for most his life. They’d been friends and neighbors of the Rogers family ever since Stefen had employed him to help build the villa. Tony had yet to meet him, but Pepper assured him he wouldn’t find better company or better-quality work.

But Tony was surprised by the man who showed up with Cameron the following morning. He had Cameron’s dark hair and eyes, and a long thin torso that seemed to go on for miles until his head was in danger of knocking on the doorframe. It forced him to duck just to enter the kitchen. Joshua Klein was skinner than a wild carrot, and at first sight of him Tony worried he wouldn’t have the strength for the work.

There was another boy with Herr Klein besides Cameron. He was introduced as Daniel, the eldest. Tony couldn’t help but be glad that at least Cameron’s older brother seemed to be made of sturdier stuff.

While Cameron scurried off to report to Hammer, Tony showed the remaining Klein’s to the spare room he’d spent most the evening emptying.

“You say it’s to be shop space now?” Joshua asked, walking slowly in a circle within the center of the room, booted feet thudding loudly on the bare floor.

“Yes, we’ll need to pour concreate over the floors and line the walls in brick.” Tony answered.

“Sound proofing?” Joshua inquired curiously, proving that he had a solid grasp of architectural design. “When Virginia said the Captain was looking for workspace, I figured it would be for his painting.”

“It’s for me, actually.” Tony revealed, choosing his words carefully. He trusted that the Klein’s were good neighbors who would not go out of their way to tell tales, but all it really took was a slip of the tongue around the wrong set of ears these days. “My father was a ship maker. Engineering has always been a hobby of mine. I tinker, mostly. Helps clear the head. The captain has been kind enough to provide me the space.”

Joshua nodded, frowning thoughtfully as he contemplated the space.

“Seems a lot of effort. It’ll be louder than the gates o’ hell in here when you’re working, but stuff some cotton in your ears and you should be fine.”

The man laughed with surprising gusto for someone so thin, and the movement caused the gold cross he wore on a chain to slide out from beneath his shirt. He tucked it back in like he’d made the motion a million times before.

“It’ll be hard work but between Daniel and I, we should have it done by the end of the week.”

“It’ll need to be done sooner I’m afraid,” Tony responded with an apologetic wince. At Joshua’s raised eyebrow he offered the excuse, “The Captain wants it done before the party.”

“Party?” Daniel perked up, cautious hope coloring his tone. “What sort of party?”

Joshua laughed again, patting the boy gently on the back.

“Margrit – beg pardon, Frau Rogers used to throw quite the party back in the day.”

So he’d heard Tony thought with a smile as Daniel asked, “Is Willamina going to make her mulled cider?”

Tony honestly had no idea, as Charlotte had taken over putting things together, but before he could say so, Joshua scoffed.

“This one has a sweet tooth and no head for it.” He explained with a terse frown in young Daniel’s direction. The young man flushed as his father muttered, “Woke up with his drawers on his head. His poor mother couldn’t show her face at mass.”

“Well he’ll have plenty of opportunity to redeem himself this time,” Tony chuckled. “The Captain’s guest, Baroness Schrader, will be issuing the invitations soon. You’re all invited of course.”

“That’s a fine thing. A very fine thing.” Slowly a smile returned to Joshua’s face. He nodded, as if turning it over in his mind and when his eyes met Tony’s he could see in them that he was just as eager as Tony was to see a party come back to the Roger’s villa.

When Joshua clapped his hands together and rubbed them suggesting that they get started Tony was about to insist on offering his help when the man looked him up and down and said, “With you helping it will cut the time in half. I hope you’re good with your hands.”

Tony grinned in response.

~*~*~*~

_A few days later._

The metal was cutting beautifully without signs of developing faults or abrasions. Sparks flew past Tony’s face, the skin that wasn’t covered by the oil stained kerchief he’d tied over his nose growing flushed from the heat the cutter was giving off.  

Martin had delivered his tools and the parts to his engine from St. Péter’s and Tony had barely waited for the cement to finish drying in his new workshop before he’d set up, and begun to improve upon the engine he’d started all those months ago. Many of the tools he used he’d created himself, designed to do the things he’d dreamed up whether it was smoother cylinders or smaller parts.

He’d created things to create better things, but he’d never truly believed he’d ever leave the abbey, or that one of his inventions could be of real use to anyone. That was apparent to him in the way the sight of his tools settled in his gut like a stone, the way they filled his thoughts and called to his hands like siren songs he had no will or desire to ignore.

He wasn’t just a stupid boy fighting off boredom in an old stable anymore. He was building a boat that Stefen and his friends would escape in. Risk their lives in. Fight the Reich in. Twice as fast as anything out there wasn’t good enough any longer.

He needed to use steel to reinforce the body of the boat so it would be able to support the weight of the engine. Metal in the body also meant more protection from bullets. But it was going to be too heavy, so he’d found a way to lighten it with an iron alloy.

Tony had lost track of how many hours he’d spent obsessing over the engine and the boats design, losing himself in the project unlike he’d ever lost himself in anything before. He jolted like a spooked cat when he felt a tap on his shoulder – yanked out of the fog of creativity as he whirled around in shock to find Stefen standing behind him, previously locked door cracked open behind him.

"Cap, you're back!" Tony exclaimed, surprise quickly giving way to excitement. Wait, why was his voice so muffled? Oh - when Stefen arched his eyebrows, and stared pointedly at the machine Tony was feeding planks through, still throwing off giant sparks, Tony grinned sheepishly and held up one gloved hand in a signal for him to wait. He finished carving the edge of the plank and quickly reached to switch the machine off.  The silence in the workshop without the cutter going was so deep it hurt his throbbing ears.

Tony yanked out the bits of cloth he’d stuffed in them and pulled down the kerchief protecting his face and grinned at Stefen, adrenaline from the unexpected reunion and the urge to _show him everything_ practically making his body vibrate.

“You’re back! I didn’t know you were coming back today! How come you didn’t –” Admittedly he was babbling and Tony was thankful when Stefen cut him off by stepping up close, placing a firm hand on the back of his sweaty neck and hauling him into a kiss. Tony instantly got on board with it, heart pounding happily in his chest as he returned the kiss, hands flying to grasp Stefen’s face and deepen it. He was unable to keep the smile off his mouth or stop the desperate way his fingers grasped Stefen’s cheeks, even if he was leaving dirty streaks there.

They parted eventually, because both of them still needed oxygen to breathe (mores the pity) but the captain didn’t go far. He kept his face close, staring down at Tony with a kind of softness that promised slow tender kisses to come and Tony had to close his eyes for a moment and catch his breath, his insides all but humming with delight.

“You’re back,” he reiterated once more, once he’d collected himself, opening his eyes to find Stefen still drinking him in with his eyes as if to memorize him.

“Of course. Péter’s train comes in tonight. I promised I’d be here.” Stefen murmured. Tony started in surprises, realizing how completely and utterly he’d lost track of the days. The captain’s brow furrowed, expression deepening with concern, as if he’d read his mind. “Tony, the children say you missed breakfast _again,_ and you’re an hour late for the start of lesson.”

Tony’s heart sank into his stomach with guilt, realizing the lateness of the hour. He was late, just like yesterday.

“Damn. But why didn’t they knock – ” Stefen’s look told plenty of tales and Tony winced. “They did didn’t they? I’m sorry. It’s hard to hear with the machine’s going.”

Even as he said it Tony felt another twinge of guilt, because he knew it was more than stuffed ears. He’d thought of nothing else but the damn boat for days and pushed everything else aside, including the children. He’d make it up to them he promised himself. For starters, by making sure their father made it home safe from his mission.

“Just let me clean up and I’ll go start their lesson –” Tony was already stripping off his gloves but Stefen caught his hands, that concern still etched all over his face.

“Forget the lessons for today. Virginia says you’ve been pounding away in here every night since Joshua left.” His too intelligent eyes roved over Tony’s body like he could see through his skin and Tony fidgeted. “You don’t come to dinner and you don’t come out till somebody comes to remind you what hour it is in the morning. Have you slept in days?”

Had he? He had to think about it for a moment. But a moment was too long for Stefen.

“Yes! Yes definitely. There’s a couch in the corner, see it? I kept it for just such bodily emergencies- ah” Tony yelped as Stefen cut him off mid-sentence by scooping his knees out from under him. Instinctively Tony clung to his neck in order to stave off the feeling of falling as the captain lifted him off his feet and began to stride toward the door with purpose. He hated himself for that instinct just a little bit as a jolt of anger quickly followed it.

“Stefen! Have you gone mad?” Tony barked, struggling to get free. Though Stefen’s step faltered as Tony’s arms and legs kicked out he showed no sign whatsoever of either remorse or heeding him. His grip got tighter if anything and Tony saw red. What the hell did the man think he was doing?!

“Put me down! This is ridiculous.”

“What is ridiculous, is you not eating and sleeping for days on end.” Stefen grunted in reply, grappling to maintain his hold on Tony, and was that amusement Tony heard in his voice? Did he think this was _funny?_

“I asked Ian to keep an eye on you, and this is what I come home to find.” Stefen muttered with a clench of his jaw as Tony bucked, toppling out of his arms onto the floor. He didn’t even have time to feel the sting of landing before Stefen’s shoulder was coming down and he was hoisting Tony over it like a sack of grain. The bastard was quick and had arms like a gorilla.

“Fuck- Ian is a child. Damn it let - Stop this! And stop putting unnecessary weight on his shoulders!” Tony panted, bucking and twisting until he’d finally gained enough leverage to jab his elbow against the larger man’s temple. He grinned viciously as Stefen grunted a curse and his grip on Tony’s lower body slackened. Tony slid to the floor and nearly toppled over again, but managed to catch himself on the wall of the narrow hallway.

Too slowly, because Stefen was there in a rush quicker than he could blink, batting Tony’s swinging fists aside and grappling for a hold on his wrists as he pushed him back against the wall and caged him tightly with his body. Tony glared at him, teeth bared as he struggled to catch his breath and Stefen stared down at him, barely winded, a feral gleam in his eye that made an altogether different kind of heat prickle over Tony’s skin.

“Is that it? You think keeping yourself healthy is unnecessary weight?” Stefen asked, deceptively light.

“For a child? Yes, of course.” Tony snapped back. Making a child responsible for the bad choices of an adult was just stupid.

“Maybe you’re right. For a child. But not for me.” Stefen replied, and damn him for looking so earnest about it as he leaned all the closer, their noses nearly touching now. “I’ll carry you to your bed every night, spoon feed you even. If that’s what it takes.”

It was hard to keep fueling his anger in the face of Stefen’s stark sincerity and with his body pressed so deliciously close. Tony was viciously torn between the desire to punch the man in the teeth and stick his tongue in his mouth, and he didn’t appreciate the feeling.

“I don’t know if that’s frightening or attractive.” he grumbled.

“What do you want it to be?” Stefen asked, eye’s lowering to Tony’s mouth for a heavy moment before they met his again, only the glint of something wicked in them betraying his dry tone.

A shiver went up Tony’s spine as his blood decided to set a southern course.

“I could live with some attraction between us.”

Stefen smiled, leaning just the slightest bit to close what little distance remained between them so that Tony knew he was about to be kissed – until the sound of footsteps at the end of the hall caused them to jerk apart.

A moment later Julia appeared around the corner, her step faltering when she spotted them. Maybe she’d seen and maybe she hadn’t. Maybe it was just the tense atmosphere and guilty expressions plastered all over their faces that gave her pause.

“Is everything alright Captain?” She asked tentatively, eyes searching between the two of them curiously.

“Yes.” Stefen answered, mask sliding back into place as he straightened his back. “I’ll deal with the children this morning Tony. I want you to go to bed, and I don’t want to see you until it’s time to pick up Péter. Julia?”

“Yes Captain,” the maid answered quickly and expectantly.

“Have lunch delivered to Herr Stark’s room.” Eyes still on Tony he added with a mischievous twinkle, “She’s not to leave until you’ve eaten every bite and I’d not like to be you if you hold up Virginia’s head house maid from her regular duties.”

“I wouldn’t either.” Tony grumbled and the captain’s stern mask completely cracked as he laughed.

>>\-----0-----<<

_Geneva Station, Geneva Switzerland_

The station in Geneva was twice as crowded as the first time Péter had come through. Not only was it full of students making their way home for fall break, he couldn’t help but notice the number of refugees clogging up the receiving lines and ticket stations. His wandering eye caught those of a little girl clasping tightly to her mother’s hand. The girl and her mother were both dressed in too many layers for the weather. There was plenty of cold this time of year coming down from the mountains, but it seemed to him as if the little girl and her exhausted looking parents had tried to wear on their backs whatever hadn’t fit in the cases they carried.

The girl smiled shyly at him, her dark hair and eyes reminding him in that moment of Maria and he smiled back.

“Péter are you listening?” Péter jerked as the voice of his schoolmate called to him, and he turned to find Edward (everybody calls me Ned) Leeds giving him a very impatient look.

“Yes! Of course,” Péter quickly replied but Ned looked disbelieving and arched a dark brow at him. Péter just hoped he didn’t ask him to repeat anything.

“Right. Then what did I just say?” Ned asked and Péter’s shoulders slumped. He shrugged, slightly sheepish and Ned heaved a sigh.

“Rogers, midterm is right around the corner. We need to pass this course! Only fifteen percent of Professor Zola’s second year students ever pass his class the first go around!” Ned reminded him for the umpteenth time, subdued awe mingling with horror in his tone as he hissed, “I don’t want to sit through another term with Zola, do you?”

“No. No definitely not.” Péter quickly assured him, clapping a hand upon the other boy’s shoulder. When he’d arrived at school late for the start of term and been told he’d be living in a dorm with a stranger for a roommate, Péter had not dared to hope he would get along with his new roommate as well as he got on with Harry and Bobby, but fate had smiled on him. Ned was a bit of an outcast but he was brilliant, and funny! And at the International School people seemed to care a lot less overall about anything besides how smart you were.

For the first time in Péter’s life he wasn’t considered strange or weak for liking books more than he liked sports or wrestling. He was admired for his brains, and challenged at every turn to get even better, and it was so wonderful he could barely sleep at night.

What kept him up most was he couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair it was, that he got to go someplace magical and make new friends and get everything he’d ever wanted – just because he was rich. Meanwhile that little girl was likely carrying everything she owned, while her parents prayed they’d be let into the country at all.

Tony said it didn’t make Péter a bad person to be lucky, as long as he didn’t forget that it was luck. But every time he sat down to eat his warm food, laid down in his comfortable bed, or walked under the colorful trees to the library with Ned and his dormmates - while they laughed and joked about how they were going to change the world and revolutionize all of their professors out dated ideas - Péter couldn’t help but think of home and all the horrible things going on there.

He hated listening to the news and hearing people debating about the sanity of the Führer and whether Switzerland should or shouldn’t welcome German refugees. He hated hearing about the fighting in Czechoslovakia and wondering if his father was safe. He hated reading letters from Tony that told him all the good things, but glossed over the fact that Ian was depressed again and Natacha was isolating herself and pushing everyone out.

“You sure you don’t want to come home with me?” Ned offered, and Péter blinked, focusing on him again. “My mum would be thrilled. I’ve never brought a friend home.”

Péter would have been thrilled to meet Ned’s mother. The pictures Ned kept of her and the island she’d grown up on were amazing. Ned’s father was some sort of business man who traded in sugar, but his parents did not live together – though his mother traveled with his father so often it almost felt as if they did. Ned had admitted nervously one night that he was a bastard, and that some people looked down on his mother for being kept by a man without marriage, but Péter didn’t care. Maybe a year ago he would have felt differently but right now, it just seemed that there were so many more important things to worry about than whose parents were married or not.

“Maybe next time,” Péter told him with a regretful smile. He’d love to see England, but he needed to go home more. Ned seemed to understand, his smile dimming as he sighed.

“Yeah… I expect you’ll be glad to see your family what with everything going on?”

Péter nodded, just as a sharp whistle filled the station and a loud voice announced over the noise of the crowd the last call for the train headed west towards Paris, where Ned was meeting up with his parents before journeying home to England.

Ned snatched up his trunk and moved like he was going to dash off to join the line boarding the train, but caught himself mid motion and turned back to Péter with an elated grin.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. Happy birthday Pete! I made this for you.”

From the bag slung over his shoulder Ned produced a thin black book which Péter took with surprise. His eyes widened even further when he flipped the book open, and realized that it was an album, half full of photos of the islands that Péter recognized from Ned’s collection.

“Oh this is amazing! But these are yours. I can’t –” Ned waved away the objection before Péter could even really get started, shifting the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder as he edged toward the line of boarders.

“I have plenty. Besides, I get to go every year and see the real thing. I left room see, so this way you can bring me back pictures of Austria.”

Ned smiled widely at him and Péter smiled back reaching for the other boy’s hand to shake firmly.

“I sure will.”

Ned dropped his hand and turned as the whistle blew again.

“Have a nice break Péter. Don’t forget to write!” he called with a wave as he trotted to catch up with the line and Péter waved until he was out of sight. Another sharp whistle filled the station and a loud voice announced the train headed east was now boarding. That was him. Péter grabbed his trunk and made to move toward the line that was forming in front of the ticket collector but something made him pause and look back at the little girl. She was still holding her mother’s hand, but her gaze was now on the floor, an expression so forlorn on her face it made Péter’s stomach twist.

Before he really knew what he was about he was digging in his pocket for the little toy he’d made – just a little figurine he’d made in class out of melted iron and tin that he’d been saving for Artur – and walking toward her. The girl looked up as he approached, wary but curious. Her parents were so busy arguing with the other adults in the line, trying to figure out what they should do next, that it wasn’t until Péter was standing right in front of her that the girl’s mother noticed him and pulled her daughter close to her side.

“What do you want?” a man barked in German. Péter could only assume he was her father on account of how close he stepped up to the woman and the girl. Péter felt his cheeks flush, feeling suddenly very stupid for having come over at all, but he extended his hand with the toy anyway.

“For her. I want her to have it. Every little girl needs a friend to look out for her.” He explained, growing more confidant with each word as the little girl peeked out from behind her mother and looked up at him with awe.

Her father looked equal parts flummoxed and suspicious, but a slow smile was blooming on her mother’s face.

“Thank you. She had to leave her toys behind.” The woman explained in a soft voice. She bent down and whispered to the girl encouragingly, “What do you say to the nice man Becca?”

“Can I really take it, Mama?” the girl, whose name must have been Becca, whispered back and Péter nodded with a smile. Becca took the little soldier from him shyly and mumbled her thanks, tucking it in close to her chest with a grin just as the whistle blew one last time and the ticket collector announced it was the last call for boarders.

“I have to go,” Péter told them in a regretful rush, turning toward the line for his train once more, but before he could leave the girl’s father had clasped him by the elbow speaking to him in a hush and hurried jumble of German and the language they’d been taught in the HJ was for the Jews.

“Toda raba. Toda! Thank you for your kindness.”

Péter gaped at him, shocked by the tears that were in the man’s eyes. He’d seen few grown men cry in his lifetime and could not fathom that his simple little gift could reduce someone to tears.

“I-I have to go.” he stammered, eyeing the last passengers boarding the train. He pulled away from the man and his family and rushed to catch up with the line.

Everything was still wrong, Péter thought as he boarded the train and searched for a compartment that wasn’t full. But thinking about Becca and the way she’d smiled at his soldier made something that had been loose for weeks finally click into place.

He was happy to be going home he decided. It was where he needed to be.

 

~*~*~*~

_Salzburg Austria, a few days later._

The tour had taken the Rogers family from the city of Munich, to the smaller town of Ulm and up on into Stuttgart. From Stuttgart to Frankfurt, then over to Hanover, up to Berlin and then down to Leipzig and finally to the city of Nuremberg.

The crowds had followed them from city to city, as word spread from the festival of the famous hero with the seven singing children with voices like angels. Even these gadje could see that they were _wuzho_ , the purest thing this world had to offer. Bucky was proud of them but found himself constantly torn between the desire to show them off (show these cotton headed gadje what it was to truly be rich) and to yank them back; to be tucked into his pocket where somebody would have to go through Bucky if they wanted to get to them.

The people thought he was just putting on a show, calling them the nation’s greatest treasure, but there was no show about it. Steve and the children were all that Bucky had left of family and the familia besides his sister. But Rochel had her own family now, and Bucky never could stand to be in a room with her very long with her eyes still blaming him for breaking their mothers heart, even where her tongue would never.

Every Rom knew that gold was nothing, land, horses, and even food in your bowl was nothing without family. A Rom knows it is better to die with other Rom in a ditch somewhere, than to live with plenty and be alone with gadje.

Sometimes, even though Bucky had not been there to see it, he still dreamed of laying his mother down in her grave, her face peaceful finally in death, the silver gleam of her bridal coins twinkling out from beneath the dirt they shoveled over her.

Rochel’s husband saw no reason to leave Poland and his sister refused to split apart the little family she had created. And then there was Bucky.

Bucky followed Steve the way he’d always done.

They all clasped tightly to their treasures, holding their breath, prepared to be ran through. What was death anyway if you let go of what made life worth living? Bucky grinned slightly at the morbid thought. You could dress a Rom up, but you couldn’t make them stop being Rom.

_Folks in a town that was quite remote heard_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo_

_Lusty and clear from the goatherd´s throat heard_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo_

When the children had begged Stark to allow them to show their father the puppets they’d been making for some party they were going to throw when Sam came back Bucky had been irritated – because Weiss was gone and there wasn’t going to be any damn party – but then Charlotte had backed up the idea, claiming a puppet show was her ideal way to spend the afternoon, and Stark had given Steve this look. Bucky would like to think it was Charlotte’s polite enthusiasm for the idea that swayed him, but he wasn’t one to indulge in fantasy if he could help it. It was Stark and those eyes of his that were pulling Stefen’s strings these days.

In fairness, Steve had been in a better mood all around now that he was back in his own home, and had all seven of his children together again. Maria and Sara could have cheated an Emperor out of his gold with how sweetly they begged, and Steve was so happy to have Péter home again he’d have given the boy the shirt off his back.

Which is how Bucky found himself sitting on a couch with Charlotte and Steve watching Stark and the children put on a show in the puppet theater they’d actually built themselves, reluctantly and thoroughly impressed.

_O ho lay dee odl lee o, o ho lay dee odl ay_

_O ho lay dee odl lee o, lay dee odl lee o lay_

On the little stage the little goatherd danced away with a trio of goats and Tony could be heard hissing under his breath for Artur to lower the next backdrop and cueing Sara to animate the prince. 

Despite himself Bucky found himself smiling along with Charlotte who chuckled gaily as the children fumbled their way through the performance. Steve was quieter but he was beaming as he watched the puppets dance and listened to the beautiful sound the children were making with their voices. He had a talented bunch, that was for sure. That look of barely contained amazement he couldn’t quite wipe off his face was well earned. Even though Bucky knew part of it was for Stark – for the way that he had of bringing everything alive, and pulling out the best from the kids – Bucky couldn’t resent it. He wished Steve could have more moments like this, moments that made him light up.

_Happy are they lay dee olay dee lee o_

_Lay ee odl, Lay ee odl, Lay ee odl ee o_

_Soon the duet will become a trio_

_Lay ee odl lay ee odl-oo_

_Odl lay ee, old lay ee_

_Odl lay hee hee, odl lay ee_

_Odl lay odl lay, odl lay odl lee, odl lay odl lee_

_Odl lay odl lay odl lay_

_HOO!_

The show ended with a punch as the little family of goats collapsed on the stage and Tony and the children came out to take their bows. Bucky stood with Steve and Charlotte to clap for them, grinning when his little shadow made a beeline for him. James practically collided with him in his eagerness to ask how they had done, and did Bucky see the puppets because he had helped design them all.

“They were great _Chavo._ My favorite were the dancing girls.” Bucky answered winking down at James who beamed up at him and went on a story about how Tony had said he’d designed their bosoms too big, but James thought they looked better that way; just like the women at the opera. Bucky laughed, and squeezed the boys shoulder.

“I for one agree with you Chavo. The more bosom the better. It’s good for singing,” he teased. James looked awed, obviously taking Bucky’s words for gospel, and Steve rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“Oh James, really. He’s a child.” Charlotte scolded him, but there was a glitter of amusement in her eye.

“Uncle James is never appropriate,” Natacha informed her with a dry look. “He says people should concern themselves only with being decent and never mind what people think is appropriate.”

“And that’s why your Uncle Bucky will forever be finding himself running from trouble.” Steve remarked equally dry and Bucky scoffed, leaning down to faux whisper in James ear.

“Don’t let him fool you Chavo, your Da gets into way more trouble than I do, and I’m the one always pulling him out.”

“He’s actually not wrong,” Stark announced unexpectedly and Bucky stared at him. Stark went on with a wave of his hand. “About the Divas and their _volume_ making them better singers. Cushioning around the larynx produces a more pleasing sound, and it’s nearly impossible to have cushion around the throat without a little padding elsewhere.”

“Tony’s right.” Péter was quick to add, a gleam of excitement in his eye betraying his eagerness to show off all that he had learned while away at school. “Having a large chest, rib cage, neck, helps produce a deeper more powerful sound. Just like an instrument!”

 “How do you know something like that?” Steve asked, sounding a bit awed and Stark had the audacity to give him this look that could have melted chocolate for drinking.

“You know how I love the opera Stefen. I’ve studied it in great detail.”

“I bet that was enjoyable.” Steve replied, dry as toast – but there was this damn sparkle in his eye, like he and Stark were sharing a private joke.

Stark laughed and quipped something about it being quite enjoyable, and Bucky tore his eyes away from the god damn spectacle they insisted on making of themselves and quickly glanced to Charlotte. Charlotte just looked amused from where she stood at Stefen’s side, seemingly unaware of the current flowing between Steve and Stark as she watched the conversation unfold.

Bucky gritted his teeth.

Thankfully at that moment Virginia arrived to tell Steve that the shop had called, and Péter’s present was ready for pick up. That kicked Charlotte into high gear as she looked at the clock and realized it would only be a few hours before guests started to arrive.

Steve and Bucky left Tony to see the children washed and ready for the evening and Virginia to oversee the final preparations of the staff under Charlotte’s watchful eye.

Even though he disliked the Osbornes, Steve had warmed to the idea of inviting their neighbors and the families of the staff to celebrate Péter’s fifteenth birthday. Charlotte had taken the bull by the horns and sold him on the necessity of inviting Péter’s former HJ troop, as well as the Mayor and a few other important city officials. It meant that the staff could not join the party the way they would have when Péter was little. Stevie was sore about that but there wasn’t anything either of them could do.

As soon as the brass saw the potential for pictures of proud Hitler Youth posing with Major Rogers flooding the local papers they’d been all for letting the family return home for the week that Péter was home for break. Even here the family had to play their role.

And so, for the first time since Peggy had died, there was to be a birthday party at the Rogers family villa. Willamina and the others understood he consoled himself. Some sacrifices had to be made.

~*~

Steve was unusually quiet even for Steve as they ventured into town. There was a storm in his head again, and he carried a tension with him as he walked that was at odds with the beautiful crisp October day.  Even when they got to Lou’s repair shop and got a good look at Péter’s gift – an old camera that had belonged to Peggy that had been growing dust in the attic – he didn’t seem quite there to Bucky, his thoughts miles away and some demon dogging his tail.

Bucky thought it was just the mounting pressure from the tour and the mounting rescue attempt of the Dachau prisoners, but he thought differently when Lou finished wrapping up Péter’s gift and announced that the second item Steve had dropped off was also ready if he’d like to pay for it now. Bucky had known about the camera (apparently some friend of his at school had one and Péter mentioned often in his letters a growing interest in the things) but a second gift was news to him. So he’d been curious, and then utterly knocked off his chair when Lou had come from the back of the shop with a jewelry box.

What was inside that box made Bucky’s throat go dry, his thoughts grinding to a halt. Laying artfully against the dark velvet interior was a necklace. Its chain was beaded with coral, an unusual red so dark it was almost ruby. It was ornamented with an even row of flat gold coins, polished until they sparkled in the sun streaming through the window of the shop. They were true gold, Bucky could tell without having to test them, because he’d seen those coins before.

Sara Rogers had worn them around her neck every day that Bucky had known her. His own mother had worn similar ones, though hers had been silver. It was tradition in their tribe, and for many Rom, that when a man was to take a bride he took his earthly wealth and flattened the coins to make jewelry, which once given to his bride would let the entire world know she was a married woman. Treasure beyond treasure.

Bucky was the one with a storm in his head now as they left the shop, feeling jumpy as a spooked cat as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen and what it meant.

When they were far enough away from the window of the shop, Bucky wordlessly grabbed Steve by the arm and tugged him toward the alley.  Steve followed without resistance and to his credit he did not bother asking what Bucky meant when he halted them and growled for him to explain.

Why was he walking around like a man condemned, and why was he holding bridal coins when he was so damn unclean he’d not even thought twice before subjecting Bucky to his dirt?

“Charlotte thinks it would be a good idea to announce our engagement soon.” Steve revealed, looking sad of all things. “I’ve put it off. I made excuses because I’m afraid. I’ve never been good at telling someone how I feel. I need some way to show it.”

As Steve spoke, some of the tension winding tightly in Bucky’s shoulders eased.

He'd practically whooped with relief when Steve had told him that Charlette had accepted him. Jesus Christ, but Steve didn’t know how lucky he was. He needed Charlotte more than ever now. Like a man needed water in a desert! He said he knew what he had to do, but then he looked at Stark and a blind man could see how lost he was. He said he knew, but then he kissed the man as if compelled by the hands of god, not caring at all that Bucky was _right there!_

Charlotte was not a stupid woman and it would only be a matter of time before she drew all the right conclusions if Steve couldn’t get his damn head on straight. Bucky had meant what he’d said that night.

What good was it, that Stark gave his brother a reason to live if loving him was only going to make Steve act in a way that got him killed? Bucky really would do it first. He’d never let Steve die in Nazi hands, an _example_ to these gutless gadje sheep.

It wouldn’t come to that, he thought with panic, trying to collect his thoughts. Alright so Steve had made his bride a bridal necklace. He’d done crazier shit. This was a good sign. A strange one, but from a good place, Bucky decided.

“That’s good Stefen.” Bucky replied with what he hoped was cajoling tone. “But you can’t give her this you know that, yeah? Everyone will look at this and see that it is rom. They will wonder why you are giving your woman this. You can’t marry a gadje woman like you marry one of our women, Stevie.”

Bucky laughed, but it fell flat as Steve’s hand tightened on the velvet box, a strangely wounded expression flashing through his eyes before it was replaced by familiar anger. It was an anger Bucky felt every day.

“I’m rom. What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter!” Steve snapped and Bucky’s temper began to fray. So now the bastard was rom?! After everything they’d sacrificed, everything they’d lost for the greater good, now he refused to change who he was?

It only underscored that something was not right in Steve’s head.

“ _Shesti! No, hush kacker!_ Of course it matters. Are you mad?! You want to thumb your nose at the Nazis, you know I’m behind you. But this is too far! You can’t give Charlotte that!”

Steve jerked and blinked at Bucky as if his words had taken him by surprise, and that only made Bucky more worried. He was scared, he realized.

He was not used to being outside Steve’s thoughts. Even when he was sinking in the dark mud of his memories from war, Bucky knew what that was like and could find him there. But this, talking to Steve and feeling like they were talking right past each other, was new and frustrating. He fucking hated it if he was honest.

“You’re right Buck.” Steve said with a blink and an air of finality that didn’t do much to comfort Bucky. “You were right all along. They take everything… but they can’t have this.”

Steve tucked the box inside his jacket and turned away, striding from the alley and not looking behind him to see if Bucky followed. Bucky cursed under his breath.

“Oh hell.”

~*~*~*~

Dear Tony,

Our prayers have been answered. The Brothers are to be released into the hands of Cardinal Rossi. I am to journey with the brothers and the Cardinal to Engzall Abbey and then further onto Rome at the abbot’s request to give his report. I must admit the thought of standing before the cardinals makes me sick with nerves, but I am so grateful for the Mercy our Lord has shown the Brothers from Engzall that there is hardly room even for nerves. Arrangements are still being made, and these things take much time and paperwork as you know, so I will likely be here in Dachau for a few weeks longer. I will send word to you when I am to depart, and when I am home again at St. Péter’s.

May God continue to keep you and your charges,

Your friend,

Bruce.

 

~*~*~*~

The house was in a flurry to be ready for the arrival of the first guests. Herr Hammer and Pepper were dashing about like racing hounds, snapping orders at the poor house maids who were scurrying about the house like mice.

Tony left the little girls to be plucked from their bath and squeezed into their dresses by Julia and went to go check on the boys. He half expected to find bedlam, but was relieved to see that whatever magic Péter had brought home with him from school, still lingered. They were all diligently getting into their party clothes with no visible sign of fuss.

Though Péter had only been gone for a few weeks Tony had to pause and marvel at the changes in him since putting him on the train back in September.  The boy had grown several inches more, shooting up like a weed. There was an inch of bare ankle just below his trousers that a mother would be itching like a leper to remedy.  If he remembered Tony would have to tell Pepper the boy needed new trousers ordered.

He was going to be as tall as his father Tony thought, observing with a fond smile as Péter assisted Artur with the buttons on his blouse, telling his younger brothers excitedly about an album full of pictures his friend Ned had given him for his birthday.

He was filling out some in the chest too.  Though Tony’s mathematical eye summarized he would likely always be longer and leaner than Stefen, Péter was growing into quite a handsome young man.

And as kind hearted as ever, Tony thought with a wistful pang, and as Péter launched into a story about a toy he’d made for Artur, only to give it away.

"I'll make you another one." Péter promised. Artur looked slightly disappointed for a moment, pouting out his lower lip, but he nodded his head appeased at Péter's promise that he was very good at making the little soldiers now and there would be plenty more.

"It's alright Péter.” Artur seemed to decide as he said it. “I have a lot of toys I can still play with. It's sad that she had to leave all her toys at home.  I won't have to do that will I?" he asked, brow puckering fretfully as he looked up at Péter with worried blue eyes. Tony's heart sank.

"Of course not. This is our home. We're not going anywhere," Péter assured him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Ian looked up from the mirror, where he was combing his hair into place and gave Péter a very searching look.

Tony knocked gently on the door, drawing the attention of the boys in the room and Péter's face broke into a relieved smile when he saw him.

"Hi Tony. We’re nearly ready."

"I see that." Tony remarked, eyeing James and grateful to see that it was one of the evenings when the middle brother had indeed successfully remembered how to dress himself.  James was all buttoned up, and hair slicked back, siting upon his bed with a journal on his lap, drawing quietly. Tony admired the well-developed sketch of his brothers standing before the mirror, noticing that he'd captured the furrow of concentration on Ian's brow with a remarkably deft touch for someone so young.

"How does it feel to be fifteen?" Tony asked turning back to Péter, finding himself very happy in the rare moment of peace between the four boys. Péter's chest puffed out a bit despite his nonchalant shrug.

It’s strange. Some days I feel as if I am a million years old, and other days I feel younger than I ever have."

"Growing up is funny that way." Tony acknowledged with a knowing hum, crossing over to help Ian tie his kerchief.

"But you boys must be excited for the party!" he commented, expecting the whoop of good cheer he got from Artur but not the non-committal shrug he got from James.

"You're quiet James." Tony called out to the boy, who didn't look up from his sketch. "I thought you'd be the most excited of all. All these people to show off to."

James made a face at him and Tony grinned.

"It won't be like it was when our mother was alive.” James sighed despondently with another shrug. "Just a bunch of adults talking. That is boring."

"Our parents used to throw the best parties." Ian recounted with an air of longing. "Mama would drag the tables out into the garden and all of the neighbors would be invited. Do you remember how Natacha would always beg Da to play his mandolin so she could dance?"

Péter nodded, the smile on his face turning sad as his shoulders drooped.

"Those parties were fun... but we can't dance around in the garden this time. Not with the mayor coming."

"Why not?" Artur pouted sticking out his bottom lip. "Doesn't the mayor like to dance?"

"Yes, but the proper sort.  And he wouldn't want to do it with servants." James shot back, for once not sounding as if he agreed with the proper way to do things.

“Father wouldn’t allow it.” Péter grumbled, as if that was the end of it.

Seeing the way that Artur wilted Tony clucked his tongue.

"How do you know that?” Tony asked and Péter’s eyebrows crawled up incredulously as if to ask if Tony had ever met his father. "Your father wants this day to be very special for you. If you don’t ask him for what you want, then it seems to me you’re only doing both of you a disservice."

Péter looked uncertain for a moment but a moment later her shook his head, a scowl setting on his lips.

"The party is not really about me, Tony. It's about making a statement. I know that. It's alright."

No, it wasn't Tony thought, but it was hard to deny when Péter had only spoken the truth.

“Please, Péter. Won’t you ask him?” Artur begged prettily, tugging on Péter’s shirt sleeve. He didn’t seem to have any trouble begging Péter to stop being so stubborn where his father was concerned, Tony thought with fond amusement. “I want to hear Vati play the mandolin! It’s not fair everybody has heard it but me.”

“You’ve heard it Artur, years ago.” Ian pointed out and Artur gave him the driest most scathing look; Tony had to lay a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

“That was when I was a baby! I’m talking about now Ian!”

Sensing the end of whatever spell had kept the Rogers boys squabble free Tony quickly interjected.

“How about we make a deal. If I go and get your father’s mandolin, then you’ll pluck up the courage to ask him to play a diddy or two so we can all dance.” He suggested. “Sound fair?”

Péter bit his lip, clearly torn, but when he looked around at his brothers and saw his own yearning echoed on their faces she stiffened up his shoulders and nodded.

“Why not. It’s what I want, and it’s my birthday isn’t it?”

Tony grinned.

~*~

He ran directly into Vreni as he left the boys room and had barely finished apologizing for that when Cameron came darting out of nowhere with arms full of linens and nearly crashed right into him.

“Whoa, steady now.” Tony reached out to prevent the boy from falling, but the top of his folded pile teetered sending the bright red cloth spilling onto the floor. Tony knelt to pick up the fabric but paused once he had it in his hands and saw that it was a banner. A big, bright bold bolt of cloth, red with a large black swastika in the center.

“What is this?” Tony asked with shock, looking up at Cameron who seemed nervous now, not fully meeting Tony’s gaze.

“They’re decorations for the party.” The boy answered, quickly snatching the banner away from Tony’s hands.

“Cameron!” Hammer’s voice floated up the staircase from the floor below with an inpatient snap. “This is no time to dawdle. Come at once!”

Cameron turned and quickly scurried down the stairs, Tony following him. It was clear that Hammer had been hard at work, polishing every surface until it shown and filling the hall with those damn red banners.

“What is all this?” Tony asked again, this time directing his question at Hammer who was directing Cameron where to place the new arrivals.

“Have you never seen the flag before Stark?” Hammer snipped with a sniff. “I’m much too busy for silly questions right now. I –”

“I see it’s a flag, but who told you to put it up?” Tony interjected tersely, and a woman’s voice along with the smart clicking of heels answered him.

“I did.” Baroness Schrader announced. “Virginia said that all of Stefen’s were ruined in the laundry so I took the liberty of ordering more. They’re quite expensive, so do be careful when you put them up, won’t you Jurgen?”

Hammer, the oily toad, nodded his head deeply and simpered, “of course Baroness.”

Tony’s gut clenched, watching in horror as Hammer and Cameron hoisted the thing up until the thick black swastika slowly unfurled in the center of the hall where it demanded every eye in the room. He had the sudden and violent urge to set the thing on fire.

Stefen would hate this. The thought kept repeating itself over and over in Tony’s mind, cutting all the deeper with each go around. It made Tony positively sick to think of him coming home to see that _thing_ claiming a place of honor in his home.

“What a face. Are they not to your liking?” Charlotte murmured beside him, drawing Tony’s glare. She was staring at him with a glint of amusement in her deceptively soft blue eyes, and not for the first time Tony felt an intense stab of dislike for the woman.

“The Captain did not order this.” Tony reminded her, because if she knew Stefen even a little bit she had to know how he was going to react when he saw this. “You had no right to do this!”

Baroness Schrader tilted her head, the amusement gone from her expression as she softly replied, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Herr Stark. Stefen did ask me to handle putting the party together.”

“And I see you have! I heard Péter’s HJ troop is coming?” Tony snapped, already knowing the answer, but if Charlotte was intimidated by his rising temper she didn’t show it.

“Yes, as well as the Young Maidens,” She answered with a slow nod, as if they were going over notes for a speech and Tony wasn’t seconds from taking a torch to the house.

“Péter _hates_ those boys.” Tony reminded her, because of course she didn’t know. Couldn’t possibly know or care how Péter had suffered at the hands of many of the boys she’d invited into his home, on his own birthday, to put on a damn show!

“Stefen and I intended this to be a small gathering for the neighbors and Péter’s closest friends, not another parade for the Nazis!”

Charlotte blinked at him, a mild expression of distaste settling mostly around her mouth.

“Calm yourself Herr Stark there is no need to shout.”

He glared at her. He was not shouting!

“You see! I told you what he is like Baroness.” Hammer barked, pointing one thin accusing finger in Tony’s direction. “I’ve tried to tell the Major, but it’s as if he has put some sort of spell on him. He ought to be reported to the police! I’d have done it myself if I weren’t afraid he’d turn the Major against me.”

“Turn me against whom?” a very confused sounding Stefen asked and Tony and the others jolted, turning to see that Captain Rogers and Herr Bakhuizen had returned from town, obviously confused to find the three of them shouting at each other in the center of the hall.

A bright, perfectly polished smile bloomed on Charlotte’s face that didn’t meet her eyes as she left Tony’s side and approached Stefen, hand out ready to take his arm.

 "Ah Stefen. I was just about to explain to Herr Stark how it is expected in every German household to…”

Charlotte trailed off, because she was watching same as Tony was, so she didn’t miss the moment when Stefen finally noticed the décor of the hall, his eyes locking on the giant red banner hanging in front of the ballroom doors.

Her eyes widened as Stefen brushed past her, forcing her to turn swiftly lest he knock her aside. The breath caught in Tony’s throat as Stefen strode up to the banner with purpose and wordlessly yanked the thing down with one purposeful violent tug.

Stefen held the banner within his hands, red fabric spilling over his arm and onto the floor as he stared at the black lines of the swastika dispassionately, as if he’d picked up one of Artur’s toys to wonder what chest it might go in.

The hall was silent as a tomb, so it echoed like a scream when he grasped the fabric in both hands and tore it savagely in two, leaving the pieces to pool at his feet.

“Captain!” Hammer cried in shock, blood draining from his face. Charlotte’s hands flew to her mouth but she said nothing. Tony hardly dared to breath or to move, his heart drumming loudly in his ears.

He’d told them, some vicious little voice kept whispering in the back of his mind. It didn’t matter in that moment that Stefen had just committed a capital offense in front of his staff. Hearing that god damn thing rip in two had been the most satisfying sound he’d ever heard. Music to his ears.

“Get rid of these.” Stefen commanded shortly, eyes holding Hammer’s like darts to a board and the man just stood there, pale and stunned. Stefen didn’t wait for the man to collect his wits, turning sharply on his heel and marching toward the kitchen on a mission.

Tony quickly moved to follow, with Charlotte behind - her brow puckered in an expression of deep concern. He thought he saw Bakhuizen step in front of Hammer but he did not spare the butler a second more of thought, confident that if he was about to go running to the police Bucky would make him think twice about it.  He followed Stefen into the kitchen where they found Pepper, Willamina and Hortense hard at work, along with two young women that Tony had never seen before.

The women froze, their bustle and chatter dying, as the captain barged into the room, his eyes immediately homing in on the strangers within their midst.

"Who are you?" he demanded to know and the young women jumped.

The braver of the two meekly replied, "I’m Frauline Herchen, Captain." She paled, seeming to realize her mistake and rushed to amend, "Beg Pardon, Major.  Major Rogers."

"What are you doing in my house?" Stefen demanded with an impatient air and the girl blanched, pleading eyes flying to the Baroness. To her credit Charlotte did not leave the poor girls to face Stefen’s temper alone. She moved to their side, gently taking one trembling girl’s elbow in a gesture of reassurance as she looked back at Stefen.

"I hired extra help. I know you are against it, but it is simply unfair to expect the staff to manage a party this size -"

"Pay them and get them out." Stefen cut her off, frustration chorded tight through every word. “I told you I did not want strangers in my home.”

"Stefen, the mayor -" Charlotte began to interject, but Stefen was in no mood to hear it.

"Damn the mayor!"  his shout echoed through the kitchen and as he took a menacing step toward her, the pair of maids cowered back. Charlotte snapped her mouth shut and looked away, silent and stoic. The only hint of vulnerability to her was the wounded roundness in her eyes that she wasn’t quick enough to hide.

“Stefen,” Tony implored him quietly, wanting to stop him before he said or did something he’d truly regret. Stefen’s eyes flew to his and held.

Tony could see him fighting for calm, so he did not think it necessary to say anything more. Stefen was not a man who bullied women. The Captain breathed in deeply through his nose, chest pushing in and out in a long slow breathes before he spoke again.

"Virginia."

"Yes Captain?" Pepper stepped forward at Stefen’s call, as straight backed as a soldier.

"Have the food brought into the garden. We will need Harold to set up the tables."

Tony's heart fluttered within his chest, realization dawning as the words sank in. The garden was where the children said their mother had always held their birthday parties. Informal and gay affairs for the Rogers and their neighbors, full of music and dancing.

Pepper and Willamina seemed to realize it too because the tension was slowly draining from their faces, overtaken by hopeful smiles, shy as green shoots peeking through the last of winters snow.

“Shall I still set a separate table for the staff in here Captain?” The cook asked, shooting a quick glance at Charlotte. Stefen grit his teeth.

“No. We’ll all eat together. Anyone who has a problem with that can just go hungry.”

The cook beamed and Pepper bit back a smile. Tony hummed low in his throat, doing his best to do the same, but he doubted very much that he succeeded.

Stefen turned and left the room, but not before his eyes caught Tony’s once more. The monk felt a shiver go down his spine.

Something had changed in Stefen. That was clear. He could not be certain what had brought it about but it was clear that it had, and that there would be no going back from here.

Good, Tony thought despite the feeling of foreboding crawling over his skin. Good.

>>\-----o-----<<

Steve was aware on some distant level that his behavior was erratic. Downright insane if he took Bucky’s word for it. But he hadn't lied when he'd told Charlotte that he didn't care. He didn’t. Couldn’t. Because none of it mattered anymore. Not if he was just going to lose everything anyway.

The yard was full of party guests, all of Steve's neighbors and their families coming from their farms and homes, bringing good food and good cheer with them. They looked completely at odds with Charlotte's more distinguished guests, all come from the city in their expensive jackets and sleek automobiles; but it worked somehow.  Steve knew he had her to thank for that.

Her reputation combined with her commanding presence convinced them all it would be a lark to roll up their sleeves and pretend to be country for a day. None of them had any idea, that this was the closest thing to the celebrations he’d known in his boyhood as he’d been able to get in years. They couldn’t know what it meant to him to be surrounded by his family, and the families of the people who ran his home, sharing food and laughter. Eating with their hands under the stars instead of on fine china.

They would never know the freedom Steve had once known with the _familia_ , playing music and dancing into all hours of the night.

Once the guests got over the shock that they would be picnicking outdoors and playing rudimentary country games with his neighbors, most everyone got into the spirit of things rather quickly. It helped too that participating in the games and guzzling down Willamina’s hot cider was the best way to keep warm against autumns nip.

"It's been too long Stefen truly," Nigel Frank had other things on his mind besides party games. A short man with half a head of hair and perpetually red cheeks that gave him a permanently flustered appearance, Nigel probably hadn’t engaged in something like a race since boyhood. He preferred artistic pursuits and Steve had a good idea why the man had tried so hard since his arrival to corner him. Steve had done a good job at dodging him until the elderly Frau Holster had held him up to talk about the birth of her fifth grandchild.

"It's good to see you again Nigel," Stefen replied as sincerely as he could manage while his eyes scanned the crowd for an escape route. They snagged on Tony who was coming towards them and his shoulders sagged in relief.

"Ah Tony, have you met Nigel?" Stefen grabbed Tony by the elbow as soon as he was close enough, drawing him slightly forward to place the monk between himself and Nigel. "Tony this Nigel Frank, He is the new Director for the Salzburg Musical society. Nigel this is Herr Stark, the children’s teacher."

Tony looked startled as Nigel made a noise of exclamation, grabbing for his hand and pumping it mightily.

"Herr Stark. How wonderful it is to finally meet you. I saw the show you did in Munich. I must say, what you’ve done with your pupils is quite marvelous. They were simply sublime.”

While Nigel was distracted gushing at Tony Steve made good his escape, nodding apologetically to both as he hastily murmured, "If you’ll excuse me? I’m being called."

"Oh, wait major I -" Nigel stopped short, blinking rather dazedly up at him. Thankfully at that moment Artur did decide to call Steve from across the lawn.

“Vati! Vati come quick!” He hollered excitedly, zigging and zagging his way through party guests making a beeline for Steve. 

"I’ll speak with you later Nigel, you understand?” Steve didn’t ask it like a real question, so all Nigel could do really was nod and offer his meek agreement as Steve turned away, but not before catching Tony's eye and making a face when he saw the way the monk was rolling his eyes.

"Be my partner for the three-legged race!" Artur begged, tugging upon Steve’s hand as soon as he reached him. Glancing around Steve noticed that James had already abducted Bucky and was hauling him toward where Cameron’s father Joshua was passing out old neck ties to the eager pairs who were excited to begin the next game and win something from the table of baked goods set aside as prizes. 

Péter was holding still while Harry Osborne tied their legs together, grinning from ear to ear, one of Frau Nagels ginger snap biscuits clamped between his teeth. A tin of the things had been his prize for winning the nohejbal tournament that had proceeded the three-legged race. 

Natacha was still fuming from her team’s loss. Steve could tell, though she kept her expression neutral enough as she insisted to the girls cloistered around her that she had purposefully allowed her brother to win because it was his birthday.

“Oh go on Tacha, we beat you fair and square this time,” Péter immediately protested and Natacha looked like she was barely resisting wrestling him until he cried uncle the way she had when they were younger.

"Ignore her." Stefen heard Harry crow as he slung an arm around Péter's shoulder.

“They’re just girls. They could never beat a team of men."

Stefen snorted, recalling many occasions when the children had been young when his slip of a girl had delighted in making Harry eat those very same words.  He missed those days more and more.

Natacha’s smile looked a bit strained now to Steve.

"Don't worry Natacha," a blond boy that Steve did not recognize called out from amidst the group of boys who were getting ready for the race.  He was partnered with Bobby Drake, who was doing his best to secure their legs together when all of his partner’s attention was clearly focused on Natacha and her friends.  "I'll win the race for you in your honor."

Steve scowled, raising his eyebrows. He wasn’t the only one who was watching the exchange either. He saw Bucky look up from where he was tying his leg to James, a spark of recognition and a dark expression passing over his face when he saw the boy. Steve wondered at it. Did Bucky know this boy?

But then again why would he? He was probably still just on edge after his talk with Hammer, Steve reasoned to himself. He could only imagine what Bucky might have had to say to the butler to assure the man kept what had happened with the flag to himself.

Still he watched, holding his breath as he waited to see what Natacha would do. He should not have felt as if the entire world hinged upon her answer. She was a young woman just beginning to flower, and young men were going to take notice. Surely this was not the end of the world.

“Vati! They’re going to start soon!” Artur pressed him and Steve chuckled. Allowing the boy to pull him over toward Herr Klein. Joshua smiled broadly as they approached, greeting them happily.

“Ah if it isn’t Stefen and one of his sparrows. The best team I’ve seen yet. Your vati has some long legs on him though, you sure you can keep up Sparrow?”

“We’re going to win.” Artur assured him with a jubilant nod.

“Alright, alright hold still now or we won’t be able to tie ya.  Oi, I’ve not seen you wiggle this much since your christening.”

“let me do it!” Artur begged. “I’m awful good with knots Joshua. Tony taught us all about them!”

Glancing at Steve, who shrugged in reply, Joshua relented, handing a silk tie to Artur who immediately crouched and set to work.

"My boy Emil has a good eye, wouldn't you say so Captain?" a boastful voice startled him.

Jerold Mueller had appeared at his side, matching his steps with Steve’s but his head nodded back toward the older children.  He was talking about that blond boy, Steve realized.

Mueller was not a neighbor but Steve knew plenty of him. He’d been a policeman in the city for years, an early Nazi supporter long before anyone could even dream of Germany annexing their country. He was SS now, and very proud of that fact.  But Steve hadn’t known he was married, let alone that he had a teenaged son.

"My nephew. " Mueller explained, reading the question in Steve’s eyes. "My sister's son, but now I am proud to call him my own. "

"My condolences.” Steve murmured, but Mueller just barked a laugh as if he’d said something funny.

“She’s not dead. The silly bitch is rotting in prison for treason. Her and that husband of hers thought they could get away with continuing to employ undesirables. They know differently now.” Mueller revealed with a dark chuckle, as if they were discussing the weather and not the imprisonment of his own flesh and blood.

Steve couldn’t help but glance back at Natacha. He couldn’t explain it but he wanted her nowhere near either Mueller or his nephew. He was just in time to hear her telling Emil that he had no need to win the race in her honor as she had every intention of winning it herself.

It made some of the tension in him ease, a small smile of pride forming as he watched her ignore the wide-eyed gasps of her friends and stride toward Joshua, hand held out imperiously in demand of one of the ties.

"And here she is! I was wondering when we’d see you. But you need a partner don’t you?" Joshua asked. Natacha looked back at the circle of girls she'd left, all of whom looked appalled at the idea of stepping forward now that everybody was watching their little drama unfold so avidly.

Steve looked for Tony in the crowd and found him already partnered with the two youngest girls, the three of them looking like a wobbly four-legged beast.

"A race sounds marvelous," Charlotte piped up, leaving the table where she'd been sipping cider with the Mayor's wife and a few others. The other women looked surprised but quickly grew delighted by the turn of events as Charlotte took off her delicate hat and began pinning up her hair.

"We mustn't let the men think that we are easily beaten or easily impressed. Where is the fun in that?" she declared with a wink for Natacha. Natacha beamed and nodded. The mayor and his group of socialites tittered.

"Baroness Schrader is a beautiful woman. Spirited." Mueller grunted beside Steve. "She'll be just a good a breeder like your last one. So, will your girl."

Steve went cold at the words, turning sharply and to take a lurching step toward the man.

“What did you just say?” He growled. It was only the sound of Artur’s pained yelp and indignant squeal that made him remember himself.

“Vati quit moving!”

Steve mumbled a hasty apology through his gritted teeth and raised his eyes back to Mueller who hadn’t moved. An unruffled smirk around the set of his mouth.

"I must say. You’re not at all what people expect you to be. Are you? I noticed you’re flying the Austrian flag, but not the German one.” He noted conversationally, false friendliness dripping from his tone. “A very interesting choice. Aren’t you worried it could lead someone to doubt your patriotism?”

“Why would it do that? This is still Austria isn’t it?” Steve bit out in reply and Mueller’s eyebrows twitched.

For a moment it looked as if he would say something more but as Harrold banged on the bottom of a kitchen pot and called for the racers to line up, Herr Mueller simply nodded in deference and murmured, “Of course.”

~*~~<>~~*~

The sun had set long ago but the party played on. The lanterns cast a warm glow over the garden, highlighting the roses blooming in everyone’s cheeks. Red noses were going around aplenty but there was enough beer and mulled cider flowing, that nobody seemed to mind at all the loss of the sun or its warmth. Nobody except the Osbornes who had begged off as soon as they saw the mayor and his crowd making their goodbyes. Harry had chosen to stay behind to watch Péter open his gifts.

Péter was just finishing opening the last of his presents, the gift table littered with boxes, ribbons and paper.  Though Péter was very grown up with his thank yous and his handshakes, Tony was having a great time watching his face for the boyish delight he couldn’t quite hide as he opened each one. He’d saved his father’s gift for the very last, and Tony had a front row seat for the shock on Péter ’s face when he opened the box to find an old Kodak inside.

Péter breathed what sounded like a wow under his breath before he snapped his mouth shut with a click and reached carefully inside the box for the device.

“Good one, Péter!” his young friend Bobby exclaimed, leaning close to get a look at it. “My father’s got one but he never lets me touch it.”

“It was your mother’s. I had it taken to the tinker’s shop, so it should work.” Stefen explained from Péter’s right. Stefen was wearing the party well, with his twinkling eyes and wind tousled hair, but his nerves in that moment were betrayed in the tension of his shoulders. Tony had to look down to hide his smile.

When he looked up at his father there was something close to awe in Péter’s eyes as he asked, “How did you know I wanted one?”

One side of Stefen’s mouth quirked up in a smile in reply.

“Your letters. You kept mentioning your friend’s pictures. I thought this way you might have some of your own.”

There was a smattering of applause from the crowd and a fond murmur of chatter over the thoughtfulness of the gift as Péter swallowed, dropping his father’s gaze. His hands tightened around the box. He might have been at a loss for words but when he shifted in his seat and looked up to catch Tony’s eye, his expression spoke volumes.

It was time then. Tony gave him a wink and surreptitiously slipped through the press of bodies, over to where he’d left the captain’s mandolin, still wrapped up in the same sheet he’d found it under in the attic.

It was a simple instrument, but well made. The lines crafted onto the surface of the dark wood struck him as unique. Intricate and detailed with the same artists eye that Stefen had inherited from the man who had made it no doubt. To think that his grandfather had crafted something so beautiful, only for it to sit in the music room gathering dust, all because Stefen had been afraid of people questioning his heritage.

Péter knew he was taking a risk just as well as Tony knew he was putting him at one by encouraging him to do it; but all of his doubt faded away as he laid the instrument in Péter’s hands.

 “You ready?” he murmured low, offering Péter one last chance to change his mind, but Péter just nodded. At first he held it as if it were a gun he were unused to firing. His fingers pale where they clutched the dark wood tightened as he stood, drawing the eyes of the guests and his father once more.

Clearing his throat loudly, Tony called for the attention of the remaining guests, “Ladies and Gentlemen may we have your attention? Our birthday boy would like to thank you all for coming, and to devote the rest of this fair but nippy evening to dancing.”

“He’s going to perform!” Tony heard a woman murmur excitedly as people took note of what he was carrying. The children’s reputation as performers was spreading throughout Austria and Germany. But Stefen’s face said he knew what Péter was about to ask because he’d gone perfectly still, his gaze locked on the mandolin in Péter’s hands as if he’d seen a ghost. In a very real way, perhaps he had Tony thought, heart beating heavily within his chest as Péter approached the captain.

Beside Stefen Bucky and Charlotte watched on, the later with an expression of dubious curiosity and the former looking as if he was holding his breath.

“Father, would you play for us? Please…” Péter asked, the light from the lanterns illuminating the hope in his expression but the noise from the party still too much for anybody but those standing the very closest to notice how his voice shook as he held the instrument out in his arms.

“Stefen, you never told me you were a musician.” Charlotte murmured, an unspoken question in her eyes but Stefen did not act as if he’d heard her, his gaze still glued to his eldest son holding out the mandolin.

As the moment dragged on becoming heavy, Tony wondered if he hadn’t made a colossal mistake. His mind had begun to race with ways to smooth over the awkwardness and assuage the hurt Péter was going to feel, but then Stefen slowly reached out and placed one hand upon Péter’s shoulder and squeezed. Then his other hand was picking the mandolin up by the neck and everybody was clapping with anticipation.

“I… I’m not-“Stefen began, only for his voice to fail him making Tony’s heart twinge in his chest. Stefen’s throat moved as he swallowed and finished in an unusually quiet voice. “I’m not as gifted as my children are. I don’t know what to play.”

Bucky stepped forward at that moment, gesturing hastily for James to fetch his violin from its case propped up against the table where he’d eaten, and gently knocked Stefen’s shoulder with his.

“You never could tell your fingers from sausages that’s for sure,” Bucky was teasing gently even as James scrambled to comply. “But with all those medals on your jacket nobody here’s gonna be brave enough to tell ya.”

That won a laugh from the party guests, but all Tony cared about was the way Stefen’s shoulders relaxed as he shot Bucky an annoyed look, ruined by the fondness in his eyes.

“We can’t all live with our instrument glued to our hands.” Stefen taunted with a small smirk as he lifted the mandolin closer to his chest, clearly getting into position to play.

“He’s really going to play!” Tony heard Ian gasp and a moment later, as if drawn like moths to a flame, the rest of the Rogers children had emerged from the crowd to collect around their father and their uncle. James handed Bucky his violin and Bucky winked at him, his smile just as big and bright with anticipation as the little boys.

He was really going to play, Tony’s thoughts echoed with awe. Pride swelled in his chest. He bit his lip, trying to control the insanely happy grin that wanted to take over his face.

Nervous eyes fixed firmly upon the strings of the mandolin, the captain began to pluck a rolling melody. It was a tune that Tony instantly recognized from Sergei Prokofiev’s children’s symphony, about a young boy who caught a furious wolf stalking the woods surrounding their home. 

Every intrepid note that Stefen plucked brought smiles to the faces of his audience and enthusiastic claps started up as Bucky joined in with his violin to make the notes soar. Harold grabbed Pepper by the hand and the two began to dance a very wobbly version of the Ländler. The chauffer had too much beer in his system to be anything approaching smooth, but their happy smiles and gay laughter inspired a few others to join in. It was obvious to the ear that Stefen was out of practice, but just as Bucky had predicted nobody seemed to mind it one bit.

"Brava!" Tony cheered along with the others as the pair finished with a flourish. There was an altogether too appealing flush of pink in Stefen's cheeks as he lowered the instrument, not quite willing to catch anyone's eye. But his eyes did flick toward Péter, who was smiling broadly and clapping along with everyone else and Stefen struggled and lost the fight to keep a smile off his face.

"Encore!" Tony called out and Stefen’s eyes met his again, one eyebrow arching.

"You seem to be running this show. What would you like to hear?" he asked, but before Tony could answer, a cheerful voice shouted out from the crowd.

“Schrammel!”

Tony craned his neck with the others to see who had spoken and smiled when he saw Joshua, standing up from the table he was sharing with his wife and sons. Cameron was helping him to pull an accordion out of a black music case beside his father’s feet. At the sight of it cheers of enthusiasm broke out among the other guests.

“Don’t do it, Joshua!” Harold heckled happily. “The wife just made me clean out my ears.”

“You mean those funny looking things are supposed to look that way?” Joshua shot back with a wide grin as he warmed up the instrument. Turning toward Stefen and Bucky he prompted, “After you gentlemen.”

To Tony’s delight, Bucky leapt into a lively rendition of ‘Wien bleibt Wien’.

People were really getting into the spirit of things now. They paired off quickly and the grounds were soon full of dancers. Tony reached for Sara and took her by both hands, dancing her in a circle until she was breathless with delighted giggles. 

"Again Tony!” she cried and Tony complied twice more before he had to stop to catch his breath.

"I think you need a partner closer to your own size bambina."  He denied, playing up his exhaustion and decidedly ignoring her pout as he looked around for a distraction.  As if on cue Artur ran up to grab her by the hand. 

"Dance with me Sara, look! Place your feet on my feet just like Maria’s." He pointed excitedly in the direction where Maria was dancing with James, the two of them out of step with the buoyant music filling the garden but clearly having the time of their lives at it. Slipping away, Tony’s eyes searched the crowd for Péter as he passed by Ian and Cameron who were singing boisterously at the top of their lungs, lyrics that Tony was sure Cameron’s mother would not approve of.

But Tony doubted Frau Klein could even hear herself think in this racket so tonight at least, the antics of young boys would go unpunished. He did swipe the mug of cider out of Ian’s hand on his way by, giving the lad a quelling look when he squawked like he would protest.

Near grown or not, Willamina’s cider packed a punch and Ian was looking rather rosy in the cheek. The morning would be a hard-learned lesson on moderation, but Tony had no doubt that it would stick. Ian was a good boy.

Five ducklings accounted for Tony continued his search, finding Péter once more in a group with the older children from the youth programs. He was talking to a pretty brunette and there was a faint blush on his cheeks that might have been blamed on the cold, if not for the way Harry and Bobby were standing behind him, snickering and trading all sorts of looks between them.

Better leave him to it, Tony thought with a smile. Whatever young miss had caught his eye, if she had a decent bone in her body she wouldn't refuse the birthday boy a dance. With Péter accounted for Tony searched the crowd of young people for Natacha, smile diming slightly when he found her standing near a table conversing with a young man whose name Tony couldn't place. 

There was nothing untoward going on, but her body language seemed tense to him, and where he was standing there was no polite way for her to exist unless the boy moved first.

"Why won't you dance with me?" Tony heard the boy asking as he approached, though it sounded more like a general giving commands than a true question. "Péter says you love it. He brags about how good you are. Are you still punishing me for that little joke I made about your father's friend?"

"I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to it’s -" Natacha began, her brow furrowing in what would have been a glower if she weren't trying so obviously to remain polite. And that was the kick of it all really. Natacha was trying very hard to be a woman, and bluntness was not in fashion, was it?

"She has already promised this sentimental old fool a dance," Tony interrupted smoothly and both turned toward them, the young man looked him up and down with a scowl as Tony flashed him with a friendly smile and a showy bow. He extended his hand for Natacha's and prompted, "Frauline?"

"Not so very old Herr Stark. I think you’re quite distinguished." Natacha replied coyly, placing her hand gently in his. There was a very real smile in her eyes, which twinkled grateful and fond at him in the lanternlight as Emil stepped aside and Tony drew her into the crush of dancers.

Your little friend seems very jealous," he whispered conspiratorially in her ear. Natacha grinned secretively at him as she spun in a circle, her skirts fanning out around her like the feathers of an exotic bird.

"He told me women are supposed to like older men." She replied and at the face Tony made she laughed. “He probably thinks I fancy you.”

"You seem fine with that?" he remarked, curious, but if he had any doubts about her feelings towards pushy Emil, they were settled when she crossed her eyes and murmured lowly in a voice that wouldn't carry beyond them, "Oh dear. I hope he still comes around."

Tony threw back his head and laughed, clasping her smaller hands in his as he led her on a few more whirlwind turns.   He was happy he realized, marveling at the feeling bubbling up within his chest.  Somehow, in the middle of everything, he'd managed to find happiness where he'd never expected it.  When he'd left the abbey, he'd hoped to find himself on the nearest boat anywhere but Austria turned Nazi Germany, but now he couldn't think of any he wouldn’t have traded this moment for the world. 

"Can I steal your partner?" Tony heard, his heart thumping heavily in his chest as Stefen tapped him upon the shoulder.  Natacha’s whole face lit up and Tony resigned himself to the fact that he’d just lost his dancing partner. He moved aside with a flourishing gesture, placing Natacha’s hand in his and Stefen rolled his eyes upward as he drew Natacha toward him, but that smile was still betraying him. The little one that refused to budge, that was half wonder – as if Stefen had just realized he would never be happier than he was in that moment. The same smile Tony was wearing.

“She’s all yours Cap.”

“Thank you, Tony.”

It was simple thanks, but nothing about the look in Stefen’s eyes was simple. The whole world was in his gaze and Tony felt something shift within himself that he didn’t dare name.

He watched Stefen and Natacha as they began to dance, completely focused on one another and forgetting about him entirely, but for once Tony didn’t mind so much being left behind. Not if it meant he got to watch Stefen dance with his daughter, both of them wearing identically shy, coltish expressions of delight, their burdens put away for the duration of a dance.

“And here he told me he didn’t like to dance.”

Tony jolted at the sound of a soft feminine voice in his ear. He’d been standing there staring after the Captain like some besotted idiot, and the whole world had just disappeared.

Baroness Schrader stood beside him now, somehow managing to look just as elegant and formidable as she had at the start of the evening despite games, races, and dances. She was watching the Captain dance just as avidly as Tony was, but there was something in her eyes that made Tony nervous. It was both soft with the familiar agony of longing, and sharp with hidden daggers.

“She’s a beautiful child, isn’t she?”

“Natacha? Yes she’s a wonderful girl.” Tony responded somewhat warily and Charlotte chuckled, a touch of mocking in her tone as she turned toward him, no hint of anything but politeness on her face.

“She’s not so much a girl anymore Herr Stark.” The baroness confided in a mischievous whisper. “The world rushes us from child to woman, and rarely leaves any time between for getting to know ourselves.”

Tony could only blink in surprise at her candidness, wondering why she was speaking to him as if they were old confidants and unable to shake the feeling of danger surrounding the whole conversation.

“You know I envy you men. How wonderful it must be to act on what you feel and say the things you think without a second thought.”

“Is that what we’re all doing?” Tony asked, just barely keeping the derision out of his tone. Charlotte had not shown it yet, but she had to be smarting from that altercation over the flag. He understood why Stefen had lost his temper and had tried to warn the woman before it ever came to that, but she hadn’t listened. He found it difficult to be sorry for her, and if she was implying that Stefen was some kind of brute who made a regular habit of flying off the handle however and whenever he pleased, he wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Half the guest list is rich old windbags and the boys who bullied Péter, because we’re all just so free to do and say what we please?” Tony gestured around at the crowd with a scoff. Charlotte slowly tapped her nimble fingers against the mug she held, appearing to consider his words.

“Perhaps not.” She allowed, “And yet, here we all are, dancing under the stars and the Austrian flag, all because one man demanded it. I admire both the boldness and the man, but you can agree can’t you, that we women must play a far cleverer game?” Charlotte asked, and Tony tensed.

“A man for instance, can have any number of flirtations. Even if he marries. As long as he provides well, a wife is expected to quietly forgive. She sees to his house and his name, with no thought for herself. I’ve always thought that deeply unfair.” Charlotte giggled under her breath as if they had shared a naughty joke. Real fear had begun to tickle at the back of Tony’s mind. Why would she have any reason to talk about the captain and affairs in the same breath, unless she thought he was entertaining other women? Maybe it was as simple as that, Tony thought heart pounding. Or maybe it was more. Charlotte’s smile seemed full of teeth to him now.

“It’s one of the reasons I hesitated when the Captain asked me to marry him.” She confessed blithely, as if they were discussing an interesting story she’d read in the paper. “I’ve always been one of those jealous creatures at heart. And I’ve never been terribly forgiving.”

She squeezed his arm in a friendly fashion, leaving him with a wink to turn her attention to a well-dressed couple who had come to say their farewells and congratulate her on a wonderful evening. Tony stood frozen where she left him, her words reverberating through his head like a gun shot.

So Stefen was getting married. Fine. Good. Expected even. He was still young after all. People would find it odd if he never sought female companionship. And the Captain was not the sort of person who engaged in light hearted affairs – at least not where women were concerned, Tony thought with a sneer. Clearly where men were concerned Stefen didn’t feel so bound to be forthcoming about something as monumental as an upcoming marriage.

He needed a drink, which was perfect because somehow, he’d made his way toward the beer barrels he realized as the kitchen girl Hortense shoved a full foaming mug into his hands with a bright smile.

“Here you go Tony. Lucky you came when you did. We’re near out.” She said. Tony nodded distractedly, more interested in downing Stefen’s best beer than holding conversation.

The beer tasted sour in his mouth, though supposedly it was some of the best local brew around. He'd have to be sure and lie to Willamina later, and say he'd enjoyed every last drop, but as it was Tony could barely taste the stuff as he swallowed. That didn't keep him from swallowing a great mouthful, drinking until he had to come up for air and praying for the drunkenness to come quick. It was a party after all. Why should he let a little thing like Stefen’s engagement ruin it for him?

Tony could feel eyes on him, and he wasn't all that surprised to look up and discover that Stefen was watching him.  Natacha was still enjoying the dance but Stefen had gone still, his gaze narrowing on Tony with concern that made a spark of anger ignite within his chest. Tony raised his cup to him with a bitter smile and downed the rest of it, before he turned to Hortense. He didn't bother looking back at Stefen as he grabbed the girl by the hand and tugged her away from the drink station.

"Dance with me," he entreated her with a smile and the girls pretty plump cheeks flushed a violent red. Hortense was always blushing and sighing after him whenever he came to the kitchens.

"Oh no. I can't! Frau Willamina asked me to -" she immediately stuttered in protest, but Tony cut her off because he knew it was just excuses.  Hortense wanted to dance with him, she Just wasn’t confident. She wasn’t fair and slender like Julia and the other maids. It was clear for all to see that Hortense thought herself a regular wallflower, but it was nonsense. Tony couldn't be the only man there who'd noticed that she was rather pretty with pink in her cheeks. And besides, slender was all well and good but Tony appreciated a woman who was plump in all the best places. Even if her hair was mousey instead of golden and her eyes were not blue.

"Willamina isn't going to remember her own name in the morning, and if we’re lucky neither will we”, he reassured her with a wink as he pulled her close. She grabbed the hem of her dull blue skirts and nervously followed his lead, gaining confidence with each step.

And there it was, that sparkle of delight young girls got when she was having the time of her life in the arms of a beau. And why not?  Tony was not as young as he used to be, but he was still considered a good catch.  He could get married too! For all that anyone would care.

Wouldn't it just be the love story for the ages? Hortense the wallflower and Herr Stark, the monk who drank like a fish and slept with the father of his charges because he was a god damned fool.

Tony stumbled to a halt the world spinning around him and nearly fell backwards, knocking over Harold, whose arms shot out to catch him.

"Woah there," he slurred happily, setting Tony to rights. "See I'm not the only one who has got two left feet Ginny."

Harold boomed a laugh and Pepper shook her head, eyeing Tony with a fond if critical eye.

"It's not his feet that are the problem. What have I told you about flirting with my girls Tony?”

"Don’t be mean to me Pep. I think I drank too fast." Tony moaned. At least it was a good enough excuse as any for the sick feeling churning in his gut.

"Perhaps you should lay down then." Pepper suggested without much pity, because she was a cruel woman when she wanted to be.

“Yes, perhaps you should Tony, “Hortense agreed fretfully and Tony relented with a nod.

"Maybe that’s best.  I won't tarnish your good sense by suggesting you escort me."

The girl’s cheeks flushed red again and Pepper heaved an exasperated sigh. Patting her on the shoulder Tony departed, smile fading away as her heard Pepper take the girl by the arm and say something about paying him no mind. 

Yes, nobody pay him any god damn mind.

He scowled, making his way toward the kitchen doors. He no longer felt in a party mood. He stumbled over the step and into the kitchen, uncommonly cool what with no preparation for tomorrows meals and the fire in the ovens long since put out.  Tony thought half a second of going to his room, and then to going outside and finding Julia or any one of the other young women who had ever sent him a flirtatious smile. Women whom would be happy to share his bed and weren’t engaged to be married!

But he knew he’d catch it by the ear for it later if Pepper found out, which she would of course, because he'd learned from past experience it was better all-around not to sleep with the maids. At least not the ones in your own house. Too much tears and fuss when they inevitably fell in love with you or got jealous of each other.

Besides, he thought with no small part of bitterness, it wasn’t Julia he wanted to sleep with. Curse her pretty face. Sure, her hair was a fine blond and her eyes a pretty blue, but they weren’t the right blue now were they? And was it really fair to sleep with some poor girl just because he'd been a fool and put his heart in a foolish dream?

What had he expected was going to happen between him and Captain Rogers anyway? That they were going to run off to Switzerland and live happily ever after like a pair of old bachelor buddies?

Ha.

Tony banged opened the door of his workshop and let it close loudly behind him.

Idiot.

He leaned back against the door and slid to the cool floor. The sound of his bottom thudding softly against the hard floor seemed louder within the room as the sound bounced off against the walls. He drew one knee up toward his chin in order to rest his head upon it and sighed. His eyes roved over the dark shadows within the room, tables, machinery, and the body of the mostly completed engine were all just grey shapes within the darkness. The room was cold and still, and Tony sat there in the dark breathing shallowly as the weight of his own fears bore down on him.

What had he done?

Had he really risked his life staying in Austria for fleeting affair with a man who would set him aside as soon as it was necessary to do so?

His nonna had tried to warn him, hadn’t she? His poor nonna. She hadn’t seen him in two decades and Tony was all that was left of his mother. He'd promised her he'd come to her soon, but he'd prioritized the Captain and his children - thinking of them as family too, when he knew better.  His family was gone. All that was left for him was waiting in Pola.

_Come home. Be with your own kind._

Maybe he should just go. Pack a bag and slip out before the children could miss him and get on the first train toward Pola. They didn’t need him anymore. Not with a new mother on the way.

Tony closed his eyes and bit back the threat of tears.

And still, like the hardy little candles he used to light in the choir room at the abbey, there was a flame burning within his chest, a desperate voice within Tony that insisted Stefen was exactly his kind. That the two of them could make some sort of pair and he was wrong to think so poorly of him now.

So, Stefen had not been forthcoming about his impending nuptials. Had he even told his children yet? Was Tony really so selfish that he expected the man to tell him his plans before he'd even spoken to his own children?

And so what if it had never occurred to him to tell Tony he intended to ask the baroness to marry him? It wasn't as if Tony could marry him, and it wasn't like Tony hadn't been aware he and Charlotte were seeing each other.  Appearances had to be kept, and Stefen had said quite staunchly that appearances had nothing to do with how they felt about one another. Stefen had promised not to abandon him and he was a man who kept his word.

What was he, some pathetic little woman who let her jealousies turn her stupid and vile?

Wake up Stark. Look at the data, that voice scolded darkly in his pounding head. There he sat in the room Stefen had given him, among the tools and furnishings that the captain had paid for! Oh, and not just mere trinkets like the ones Charlotte wore. Stefen had let him transform this old room beyond recognition, Tony thought as he curled his fingers against the cool concrete. Even if Charlotte booted him out the door tomorrow, this house would always bear the marks of Tony Stark having been there because Stefen had wanted it that way.

He huffed a small laugh, wiping a hand down his face in the darkness. It sounded weak even to his own ears.

No more of that.

The Baroness knew how to fight dirty, that was clear. But she would learn. Tony could fight dirty too.

There were footsteps approaching outside the door, and he'd been expecting it he realized when he heard a quiet knock on the outside and Stefen's voice coming through the door.

"Tony? Tony, let me in."

For a wild moment Tony contemplated spitting out the no that leaped to his lips, but he swallowed the word as well as the sound as he pushed himself to his feet.

Was he a Stark man or wasn't he? He wouldn't run with his tail between his legs from Baroness Schrader. If it was to be a battle, then he'd come out the winner.

He’d always been one of those jealous creatures.  

Tony yanked the door open and Stefen's eyes widened, surprised by the sudden motion. For a moment they just stood on opposite sides staring at one another.

Stefen's eyes searched his slowly. Whatever he saw on Tony's face made his shoulders tense and his mouth pull down in an expression of sadness.

"She told you?" he finally guessed, but it sounded more like a statement.

"You didn't." Tony countered, not moving from the doorway. He'd let Stefen in when he was good and ready.

"I didn't." Stefen agreed with an air of regret, but he offered no excused and no apology.  Tony couldn't decide if he wanted to punch him in the mouth or kiss him. He was torn between wanting the man to beg for his understanding, and not being able to stomach hearing a single excuse that might come out of his mouth.

"What was it, protecting me from myself again?" he heard himself ask, because apparently the side of him that needed to pick things apart was stronger than the side that just wanted the ache to let up.

"Protecting myself." Stefen admitted with far less fight than Tony had expected. "It wasn’t right, I know that. It’s just, I can’t let you walk away."

Stefen’s voice had begun to shake. It was slight, hardly noticeable, but in that moment, he couldn’t have twitched without Tony’s notice.

“I can’t lose you. Not when I… when I –”

Stefen didn’t sound as if he could finish, but Tony wasn’t going to let him regardless. He didn’t need to know where those words could have lead if he’d managed to get his tongue around them. Tony knew what he wanted, and what the damn concrete floor beneath their feet said about what Stefen wanted and he didn't want to spend another moment thinking about their fears!

Grabbing him by the back of the neck Tony pulled him down into a kiss, halting Stefen’s stuttered speech as he crushed their mouths together, swallowing the gasp of surprised breath Stefen took.

Tony kissed him with urgency, walking backward into the room and gratified when Stefen followed, sinking his weight into the kiss with the same sense of urgency that Tony felt. As soon as they were past the threshold Tony tore his mouth away and reached past the captain to shove the door closed.

It closed with a heavy thud, but Tony didn't think about who might have heard or the consequences.

"Tony I'm -" Stefen, attempted to say but Tony shushed him, a harsh sound in the dark that he gentled with the press of his full length against Stefen. Tony took his mouth again as their hips ground together, capturing Stefen’s lower lip and teasing it with his teeth. The captain shuddered and let his head fall back against the door with a groan and Tony chuckled.

"Should we really do this here?” Stefen wondered as Tony’s hands began to undo his belt. It was a token protest clearly, because he did absolutely nothing to stop Tony’s deft fingers getting inside his briefs and finding their way to the hard cock straining inside them.

"The room is sound proofed.” Tony reminded him, grinning as Stefen's hips bucked involuntarily as he squeezed his hand around his cock and began to stroke. Tony held him in place with one hand while the other continued to stroke. Pressed this close he could watch the way Stefen’s pupils swallowed the blue of his eye as shudder after shudder rolled through his body, pleasure mounting.  He was too beautiful like this, falling apart in Tony’s hands. All that strength held at bay by a single hand upon his hip, letting Tony set the pace however he liked.

Stefen’s mouth fell open, a hitched gasp escaping that betrayed how close he was.

"Tony… Tony please." Stefen made a desperate sound, and Tony shivered as Stefen’s hands grabbed at his hips, grinding their bodies together until the pleasure was almost too much. Tony’s breath stuttered, coming in great heaving pants as he fought back the urge to spill in his pants like some untried boy. Stefen's eyes lowered, and Tony was struck by the way he looked, mouth bruised red and pupils blown wide as Tony drove him toward completion. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait a second longer without having him the way he’d dreamed of having him since Berlin.

Stefen let out a little gasp of dismay as Tony released his cock and went to his knees. The shock barely had time to register on his face before Tony was working his trousers down with impatient tugs.

“Fuck,“ Stefen cursed, breathless and _raw,_ jerking forward as Tony closed his mouth around the head of his cock. The unplanned motion pushes the thick length past his lips and into the back of his throat. Tony gagged, but gripped Stefen’s thighs tight swallowing him down again with gusto – unperturbed by the discomfort when the captain’s every hitched breath and aborted thrust was sending heat pooling down into his belly. Tony was so hard he thought he might burst, but he couldn’t even think about his own cock. Not when Stefen’s was a warm weight in his mouth.

Stefen was unraveling. Panted curses and gasps filled Tony’s ears as Stefen’s whole body shook beneath his hands. Those little thrusts of his quickly turning erratic as his fumbling hands came to rest in Tony’s hair, fingers grasping desperately at the dark strands until Tony’s eyes stung.

A low moan escaped his throat, and Stefen bucked at the vibration. Tony had never felt something so good. Didn’t want it to stop. Ever. But Stefen was already too close, coming up to the edge where pleasure met pain.

“Tony!” he gasped Tony’s name in warning, but Tony just opened his throat, taking him in as deep as he could and Stefen came with an almost violent sounding curse. He fell back against the door, shaking knees nearly giving out as Tony released his cock – the wet sound echoing within the small workshop.

Tony wiped away what he’d not been able to swallow, watching with a smug expression as Stefen leaned against the door fighting for breath. If it had been Tony’s intention to completely shatter his world, then mission successful. Stefen looked as if he might faint.

“You alright there, Captain?” Tony asked, voice hoarse from the misuse of his throat and Stefen’s dazed gaze narrowed on him with a comical amount of affront.

“Of course, I’m not alright!” he snapped irritably, flushing an embarrassed pink. “You just… you just-“

“Swallowed you down like a dockside whore?”

 “Well, yes!” Stefen did not look nearly as amused by this as Tony was. “God… where did you even learn something like that?”

“On a dockside.” Tony threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender as Stefen’s glare intensified. “I’m not lying. Hamburg, red-light district. The girls there know how to show a sailor a good time.”

Stefen’s angry blue eyes roved over his face for a moment before the emotion in them shifted to something else, Tony couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not quite anger anymore, but not _not_ anger either.

Pushing away from the door the captain straightened up, and he should have looked ridiculous, looming over Tony with his pants around his thighs, but somehow, he only managed to look beautiful to Tony. He shivered when Stefen grasped his face by both hands, eyes staring deeply into his as he spoke slowly and firmly.

“You’re not a whore Tony. You don’t have to do dirty things for me.”

Stefen’s thumbs stroked his cheeks and Tony’s eyes stung as something shifted within his chest, and he closed his eyes to keep the emotion from overwhelming him. He took a deep breath. He would not be silly and do something utterly embarrassing like start crying.

“Everything we do together is supposed to be dirty Stefen,” Tony pointed out, opening his eyes when he felt he had control of himself.

“I think you know what I mean.” Stefen replied, not letting him evade the subject and Tony nodded, turning his head to place a soft kiss against his palm.

“I do.” He admitted even softer. “But maybe I _want_ to do dirty things for you.”

Stefen’s breathing hitched in the dark and Tony smiled. Then Stefen was tugging him upward and Tony went, getting as smoothly to his feet as he could with his unattended erection still throbbing between his legs. When he was standing once more, Stefen kissed him breathless.

“Let’s go to bed.” He murmured when they parted once more, his forehead pressed to Tony’s.

“You can’t disappear from your own party. People might talk.” Tony reminded them both and Stefen heaved an aggravated sigh.

“After then. Come to me after, when everyone is gone and the children are in bed.”

Smiling in the dark, Tony leaned into the gentle stroke of Stefen’s palm against his cheek and murmured, “Yes, Captain.”

 

~*~~*~*~

_Salzburg, Austria_

_The morning of October 28 th 1938_

~

The cold woke Tony with a shiver. For a moment he lay in the dark, wondering at the chill within but then his focus was captured by the feeling of Stefen's body trembling against his. Small tremors shook his body where it was pressed against Tony's back.  Turning in the bed to look at him Tony's chest clenched at the sight of the captain’s hands clutching white knuckled at the sheets, his face deeply lined with tension as his mouth clenched and twitched, chased by nightmares. Stefen shivered violently and Tony sprang into action. It was horribly cold within the room. Cameron must have been late to feed the furnaces that morning.

Tony quickly pulled the blankets up where they had twisted around Stefen's legs and covered them both up until they were cocooned. He wrapped Stefen up within his harms and pressed close shushing him gently when he started awake with a violent jerk.

"Shhh. You're alright.  It's me. Everything is fine."

"Tony?" Stefen's voice was raspy and dark with uncertainty. Tony slid his hands under the hem of Stefen's night shirt, pushing up the linin until he could lay his hands over the cool flesh underneath and begin rubbing warmth back into his skin.

"Just breathe." Tony urged him and Stefen complied, breathing in and out in shuttered gasps at first until his breathing slowed, deepening with each breath.

"Why is it so cold? Stefen grunted after a time and Tony shrugged, continuing his lazy stroking of the skin of Stefen's back.

"Cameron must be running late this morning.  There was a lot of booze at the party." he pointed out with a smirk, but that of course just made Stefen look concerned.

"I hope he didn’t let his father see him."

Tony shrugged. Now that full wakefulness had returned, he could only think of what the baroness had dropped on him the night before.  Stefen was engaged to be married. Which meant that even if - when, he amended forcefully within his own thoughts. When Stefen returned from the war he would have a wife to run his house and mind his children, and more pressingly on Tony’s mind at the moment, to warm his bed at night.

Not necessarily, some childish petulant voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not all couples slept in the same bed. There wasn't love between him and Charlotte. Stefen had sworn it. He and Tony would have to be more careful with when they lay together, but what was a little more secrecy in regard to something they already had to keep secret? It would all be fine.

He kept telling himself that… But his arms held Stefen in the quiet hours before sunrise like someone who knew time was an hourglass.

~*~

Are you sure you don't want a shave?" Stefen paused the razor blade in his hands to twist toward Tony who was just finishing tucking his shirt into his slacks. Tony made a face at him and Stefen's smirk widened into a smile, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"Everyone talks about your beard you know. They say it's eccentric."

"I'm Italian darling, everything I do is eccentric. " Tony answered with a dramatic waggle of his eyebrows and Stefen chuckled again, louder, shaking his head as he turned back toward the mirror where he was shaving off the mornings shadow. Tony cocked his head and tried to imagine what it would look like if Stefen were to let it grow, and found himself intrigued by the idea. Though to be certain, it would be a shame to cover the chiseled line of his jaw and those gorgeous cheekbones of his. A crime against mother nature herself.

“What are you snickering about now?” Stefen asked, eyeing him suspiciously in the mirror and Tony’s grin broadened.

“I entered the children into the winter music festival.” He answered, because he wasn’t about to give away his true thoughts.

“What?” Stefen twisted around to glare at him, predictably agog.

“One, it will teach you not use me as a way of avoiding things. And two, there’s no reason that they shouldn’t. The cat is already out of the bag about their talent, and they sing whenever your General Schmidt calls for it anyway.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want them to. And Schmidt isn’t going to be happy I made plans that could interrupt his scheduled tour.”

“All the more reason to do it.” Tony pointed out as he finished stepping into his pants. “The German’s want Austrians to think nothing has changed, that maybe things are even better. Well your children are very proud of their heritage and would never dream of missing such a celebrated Viennese tradition.”

He buttoned up his slacks and knelt down to search for his socks grunting, “Rebellion is an art form Stefen. You don’t actually have to do a single thing you don’t want to, so long as you make it sound as if you did.”

He was just finishing fetching socks from under the bed when a knock at the door startled them both. Tony stiffened when the soft knock came again, thankful that they were both in a proper state of dress. Whoever was at the door could think what they wanted about why they'd chosen to meet so early as far as he was concerned.

Trading a wary glance with him Stefen opened his mouth to call out to the person seeking entry to wait just a moment, but the knob on the door was already twisting, and a moment later a small blond head of curls appeared, the rest of Sara's s cherub like frame following not far behind.

She stood in the open doorway clutching a stuffed bear in her arms. The toes peeking out beneath the hem of her long nightgown looked pale with cold and the blanket she clutched around her shoulders, dragged behind her like an oversized cape only emphasized the lack of heat in the house.

"Sara?" Stefen dropped his razor into the wash bowl and took a step toward the little girl.  Sara extended her arms, letting the blanket fall to the floor as she ran toward her father, who was quick to scoop he up.

"It's cold Vati." she complained, burrowing closer against Stefen's warm linin shirt. "My bears nose is cold too.”

“Oh is it?” Stefen made a thoughtful sound as the little girl nodded, expression turning devastated as she said, “That means he’s sick!”

Stefen looked like he couldn't decide whether to be concerned or perplexed by this and Tony chuckled. He tucked Sara's toes under the hem of her night gown and leaned down to kiss the head of her bear.

"We learned about germs and how to spot the signs of sickness.” He explained. “An astute diagnosis to be sure. You may have a future nurse on your hands Cap."

"Well not if we all freeze to death." Stefen grumbled, rubbing Sara's back with one broad palm. "Cameron’s usually here by now.  Though why Hammer hasn't -"

"Cameron's not sick," Sara interjected and Stefen fell silent, staring down at her curiously. "He's napping by the shed."

Tony arched his brows in alarm at her announcement, gaze meeting Stefen's with worry.

"By the shed? Are you certain?" He asked the child carefully and Sara nodded, sleep rumpled curls tumbling.

"I saw him in the window. Can we light a fire Vati?"

Stefen chuckled despite the worry still clinging to him and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gaze meeting Tony's as he murmured in reply, "of course. The kitchen will be nice and warm with the stoves going. Why don't you go down with Tony while I wake Cameron up?"

Sara nodded and wordlessly stretched out her arms for Tony, and Stefen transferred her into Tony’s waiting arms. Tony kept up bright chatter as they made their way to the kitchen, trying not to worry about what state Cameron must be in if he’d passed out by the shed all night. He hoped it was just a case of too much excess and not something worse. What if he’d been hurt, out there in the cold all night?

Willamina and Hortense were hard at work when the trio entered the kitchen, and they did not look all that surprised to see them.

“Morning Captain.” Virginia mumbled tiredly from her seat at the table. She looked as if she’d sat herself down there as soon as she arrived and hardly moved since. She kept her voice low pitched as if the sound of her voice hurt her ears and Tony winced sympathetically.

“You make a fine beer Willamina.” He praised and the cook chuckled.

“Don’t I know it. Everyone’s slow out of bed this morning. Poor Cameron is going to catch it when he finally shows his face. Though Hammer’s not here yet either and that’s the oddest bit. Poor Harold’s down with the furnace now, though he looks ready to fall over dead. Poor man.”

The cook winked at Sara, who giggled, and eagerly informed those not in the know, “Cameron’s sleeping by the shed.”

That made both the cook and the kitchen maid pause, appalled expressions on their faces.

“What do you mean?” Pepper asked looking livelier as her eyes following Stefen as he moved toward the back door. “I passed the shed on my way in and I didn’t see him then.”

“I’m sure we’ll get it sorted. I’ll be back in a moment.” Stefen assured them. “Could you make sure Sara gets a warm drink? She took a chill.”

Willamina nodded, attention absorbed by clucking over Sara as Stefen quietly closed the back door and walked into the garden.  Tony watched him from the window until he was around the shed and out of sight, worry tightening in his gut.

“Why’s it so cold?” Péter’s voice pulled his gaze back into the kitchen, where Péter now stood in the doorway still in his night clothes and eyes puffy from sleep.

“Something’s happened to Cameron,” Hortense filled him in with an anxious whisper, eyes flickering fearfully to the backdoor.

“Oh hush. Too much to drink is all.” Willamina quickly hushed her, nodding empathetically in Sara’s direction. “Just have a seat with your sister Péter and I’ll fix you up some of my cider. No spirits this time.”

Péter looked green around the gills at the mention of alcohol and Tony smirked.

“Unless of course you’d like some?” he teased. “Since you’re fifteen and a man and everything.”

Péter glowered at him mumbling darkly, “No thank you.”

Willamina set two steaming mugs of cider down before Péter and Sara who eagerly began to gulp at them as fast as the heat of the drink would allow. Tony thanked her when she handed him his because he wasn’t raised by wolves, or rather an army captain and a reprobate monk as the case might just be.

There was a clattering at the door that drew everyone’s eye, and it was silent as the door swung open and the captain returned with Cameron at his side.

There was something about the way the captain moved, and the ashen look upon the boy’s face that held the silence as the two entered – Stefen supporting the young man with a grip on his arm and a hand on his back. Cameron’s legs were wobbling as if he were drunk, but there was a hollow and glazed look in his eyes that said that was not the case. Tony’s heart sank within his chest as he took in the boy’s tear stained cheeks and the swelling bruise just below his right eye.

Pepper got up, silently fetching a wash cloth and wetting it with heated water from the kettle as Stefen gently guided Cameron into a chair.

“What happened?” Sara gaped in a concerned whisper, breaking the silence and Stefen looked up, eyes flickering between her and Pepper before he answered.

“Cameron took a fall, but he’ll be alright. Virginia, if you could?”

Pepper handed him the wet cloth with a nod and moved around the table, reaching for Sara’s hand.

“Come along Sara.”

Sara didn’t look as if she wanted to go, but she also knew better than to argue. When the door had shut behind the woman and child Stefen’s eyes flicked to Péter, but Péter noticed and shot him a stubborn look that seemed to dare him to try and make him leave. Stefen either agreed or just didn’t have the energy for the argument because he turned back to Cameron and began cleaning the cut on his cheek with the washcloth Pepper had left him.

“What happened?” this time Tony was the one to voice the question, walking slowly toward the young man trembling on the chair and laying what he hoped was a comforting hand upon his shoulder.

“The Gestapo have taken Cameron’s family.” Stefen answered in a tone much too quiet and calm for the words that sent shock like a wave through the room.

Hortense gasped, hands flying to cover her mouth and Péter’s mouth fell open.

“Why? Why would they do that?” he demanded.

Cameron’s haunted eyes, which had been staring sightlessly at his hands a moment before swiveled to meet Péter’s. They were filled with tears.

“They were waiting when they got back to the house…” Cameron’s voice was hoarse, as if he’d worn it out screaming though he’d not made a sound before that. “They said all Jewish Poles had to leave Austria.”

“B-But Joshua is not!” Willamina insisted, clutching at the collar of her blouse. “He’s a catholic, same as anybody.”

“His father was a convert.” Stefen supplied in that same very quiet way. It was too damn calm, when all of Tony’s nerves were rattling like there was gunfire going off in the next room. “Under the Nuremberg Laws Joshua could still be considered Jewish.”

Tony clenched his teeth. He knew how those damn laws worked better than anyone. And the axe always fell based on how useful you were or weren’t to the Reich. Didn’t it? What use was a poor immigrant from Poland?

None.

“They only wanted to take Papa at first, but Mama insisted on going with. They…” Cameron halted, gasping for a breath and Tony rubbed his back, making a soothing sound that sounded as shaky in his own ears as his breathing.

“They put everyone on a truck and took them to the festival hall. They’re being held there.” Stefen filled in. Cameron nodded shakily.

“I followed them. I tried all night to get to them but they wouldn’t let me in. One of the soldiers… he cursed at me, hit me with his gun. He said he would shoot me.”

“God, have mercy.” Willamina shuddered, swaying on her feet. Hortense quickly pulled out another chair from the table and guided the woman into it before she could fall into it.

“I d-don’t know where Daniel is. He never came b-back from the party. What if they got him too?” Cameron began to choke and even though Tony’s chest was tight and he was finding it difficult himself to breathe, he wrapped the boy up in his arms and held him as he sobbed.

Stefen rose to his feet and Tony met his eyes. He hoped Stefen would not wonder deeply why his were bright with tears and a gutless kind of terror he could do nothing in that moment to hide.

“I’m going down there. All of you are to stay here.” Stefen instructed quietly, gaze locked on Tony. “Lock the doors and let no one inside until I return. When he wakes, tell Bucky I need him here.”

Tony nodded to show that he understood, and continued to rock the sobbing boy in his arms. Stefen looked as if he wanted to say more, but after a moment he just clenched his jaw, laying a hand briefly upon Tony’s shoulder before he moved past them.

The back door shut with a thud in his wake and Péter flinched.

“It’s alight.” Tony announced, not just for his sake but for Hortense and Willamina as well, who were both pale and shaken. “It’s going to be alright.”

It was a lie, and they all knew it, but no one refuted the words.

 

~*~

“Tony, why isn’t Cameron working?”

Péter looked up from his kodak to find that his brother James was staring at Cameron who hadn’t moved from where he was curled on the couch by the fireplace under a blanket for some hours now. James’ voice had that whiney quality he always got when he was frustrated.  He must have gotten bored with drawing. Artur who was laying upon the rug with his zoology book spread open in front of him, sat up, ruining the perfectly good shot that Péter was trying to capture of him and he sighed.

There had been no lessons for his siblings that morning. They’d all come back to the sitting room after lunch to continue listening to the news broadcast while they waited for father to come back. All except for the baroness who had insisted she must check on her home in Vienna and had set out with Herr Hogan not long after Frau Hogan had broken the news to her.

“Cameron had a very difficult night patatino” Tony answered. Péter thought he sounded tired.

“Did they really arrest the Klein’s?” Natacha asked, sounding subdued and on the couch beside her, Frau Hogan paused her sewing, eyes falling sympathetically on Cameron’s back before she answered.

“The Klein’s haven’t done anything wrong. It’s all a mistake, one I’m sure your father will get sorted out.”

Péter wasn’t so sure.

It wasn’t just the Klein’s after all. The radio said that all the Jewish immigrants, young and old, had been taken from their homes for deportation. It didn’t matter how long they’d been in Austria or Germany, or what previous documents they’d obtained to legalize their stay. All those on the list were rounded up and told they had to go. No time to pack. No time to say goodbyes.

A dark cloud had settled over Péter’s house, and indeed all of Austria and Germany as well.

The reports on the radio were all grimmer than the last. All day they’d been telling people how necessary it was to deport the Jewish Immigrants who drained their economy and brought crime and corruption to their neighborhoods. Many of them were hostile to removal. People were dying, but the newsmen said that if soldiers took shots, it was for the safety of the public.

If looters were shot trying to strip the empty homes the Jews had left behind them, it was because they were stealing government property.

Stay in your homes. Lock your doors. Pray the Jewish vermin were removed as quickly and as peaceably as possible.

Ignore the terrified faces of the deported as they marched past your windows, on their way to anywhere but here.

“God awful mess.” Bucky muttered as another warning finished playing once more on radio. They’d kept it playing all day, hoping to hear any fresh bit of news.

Uncle Bucky tossed back the last of his drink and Péter looked up from the camera he was only pretending to pay attention to in order to stare at him.

In the chair by the radio Tony sighed. Péter had lost count of how many times Tony had sighed in the last hour. He was restless, but he had nothing on Uncle Bucky, who was a certifiable mess, pacing back and forth, threatening to wear a hole in the carpet.

From the moment he’d learned what happened and heard where father had gone he’d wanted to follow, but he’d stayed at Tony’s insistence. Or rather, Father’s insistence, because after Tony finished imparting the captain’s message Uncle Bucky had cursed and gone running back to his room.

When he’d returned it was with a pair of pistols, one of which he tossed to a startled Péter and the other to Tony.

“Let’s hope your shot has improved Stark.” He’d grunted.

“My word James, are those necessary?” Frau Hogan had exclaimed, shocked at the sight of the weapons.

“Stefen’s a rich man. Looters will be out and they know the police will be busy.” Bucky had replied unapologetically, passing Péter a case full of bullets. His hands had trembled slightly as he took them. “You remember how to load that chavo?”

“I remember, Uncle Bucky.” Péter had responded, more confidently he actually felt, but he remembered the shooting lessons they’d had, and what his father had said about why it was important. He had to protect the family while his father was gone. Péter’s hands had worked quickly to finish loading the gun.

“Good, keep that with you. Fire only when I tell you to. Understand?”

Péter had nodded, and that was how their day had started.

The three of them armed and tense as they listened to the news reports and the rest of the house moved quietly around them like somebody had died. Tony made them tuck their weapons out of sight as not to frighten Péter’s younger siblings, but none of them were particularly dull. They knew something was wrong even if they could not grasp the full extent of it.

“Tony.” Artur rose from the floor and approached their tutor.

“What is it bambino?”

“Maria has to go to the bathroom, but she’s scared.” he whispered, pointing a skinny finger over to Maria who was standing now too, her hands bunched up in the hem of her dress and staring morosely at her feet.

“I see.” Tony acknowledged. “Do you think she’d be less scared if you went with her?”

Artur wriggled, shoulders drooping as his face clouded with anxiety.

“What if a lion eats us? I know they don’t live here, but there are some at the circus. I saw it on a poster.” He whispered anxiously, as if saying it aloud would increase the chances that a lion was about to come tearing out of the dark hallway to gobble them all up. “One could have escaped. Don’t you think?”

Péter’s heart sank in his chest. He knew it was not escaped circus lions that had Artur so afraid.

“Anything is possible.” Tony hummed thoughtfully in response. “The good news is it’s highly improbable. You remember we talked about probabilities?”

“Yes, it means it’s not likely.” Artur nodded slowly, fidgeting in place. He still looked worried.

“I’ll go with you Artur.” Natacha offered, rising from the couch. “Power in numbers.”

Artur nodded eagerly.

“Can we sing about our favorite things?” he asked hopefully and Tony smiled as Natacha nodded, reaching for his hand as they began to walk toward where Maria waited.

“You start us off.” Péter heard Natacha saying as the trio exited the room. He wanted to follow them, even though he knew Natacha would say she could take care of herself. Even though it made his stomach feel all tied up in knots Péter thought that he could shoot someone if they tried to hurt his younger sisters and brother. If it meant stopping someone from hurting any of his family, he could shoot. He could.

But not for the first time, Péter found himself thinking that maybe it wasn’t good enough just to stand guard in case something bad happened. Maybe they had the power to stop the bad things before they ever happened.

_This is the afternoon report. All citizens are urged to stay off the streets while public authorities deal with the expulsion of undocumented Polish migrants…_

The people on the radio weren’t telling the truth. Nobody was going to know what the Nazis had really done.

Annamarie said that the truth was a weapon. Their best weapon against Hitler.

They couldn’t just sit here, letting the Reich tell lies, could they?

No. They had to find some way to get the truth out, Péter thought, resolved.

The question was how.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tony watched Natacha leave with Artur and Maria, loath to let the trio out of his sight and staunchly ignoring the irrational urge to get up and follow them. He was irrationally grateful when Bucky ‘s impatient pacing drifted toward the door of the hall. He stopped and leaned against the doorframe with a sigh, head angled in such a way that Tony knew he could keep an eye and an ear on the hall.

It was reassuring in a small way to know that Bucky was so fiercely intent on protecting the children. He doubted very much that devotion extended to him, but Tony could take care of himself in the event of unwelcome visitors. He was not truly worried about the looters coming out this far into the country, and he suspected neither was Bucky.

He was more worried about the captain’s enemies, one very dangerous one in particular, who wanted Stefen out of the way and would have no qualms about murdering his household and shifting the blame to an innocent party. Wasn’t that why the Baroness had scuttled out of there as quickly as she could? Tony thought uncharitably. Vulnerable elderly aunt indeed.

Tony clenched his shaking hands in his lap and aborted a sigh. It was beginning to feel that he’d done nothing at all for hours but shake his head and sigh. The sting of his uselessness kept biting him, and the guilt of his fraudulence sat souring in his gut. Look at him, sitting there on a lush cousin, while the Klein’s and god only knew how many others had their lives ripped out from under them. Why did he deserve to be spared and not Joshua? Tony was the child of a convert too. He might have been born in an Austrian territory but it wasn’t their _polishness_ the Nazi’s had struck against. Not really. Or at least not yet. With the Nazi’s views on the poles Tony had no doubt they’d strike at them soon enough, but this wasn’t that strike. This was about the Jews. This was the first solution to the prevalent debate of a Jewish problem. 

_How do you solve a problem like the Jews?_

Get them out.

_But what if you can’t?_

Tony’s thoughts kept orbiting the same grim thoughts, circling a wild but unfounded fear. What happens when they realize borders don’t work? What’s the solution then? 

_Get them out. By any means necessary._

Tony was torn from the dark thought when he saw Bucky tense out of the side of his eye, the man straightening and reaching for his gun as the sound of running footsteps in the hall finally reached Tony’s ears. He’d just reached for his own weapon when Hortense came running into the sitting room looking flushed and out of breath.

She didn’t seem to notice the tense feeling of the room or the fact that at least two of its occupants had pulled guns on her. Her eyes fixed immediately on Cameron and he was her sole focus. They all realized why when she breathlessly announced that the captain was back, and a moment later Stefen stepped into view. He wasn’t alone either.

"Daniel!" Cameron came suddenly alive, shooting up from the couch and rushing towards his brother. Daniel met him half way, the older boy's shoulders shaking as he choked down a sob and buried his face against Cameron's shirt.

"Daniel! I couldn’t find you - " Cameron fought to get out, but it was hard to speak with how tightly he and Daniel still held one another. Sniffing wetly Daniel pulled back, his eyes still blotchy with tears.

"I spent the night in the Alton's barn.” The older boy explained. “I've been looking for you all day. Are you alright?"

Cameron nodded weakly, wet eyes latching on the captain though he refused to let go of his brother. "What about mama and papa? What’s going to happen to them?"

The whole room was holding its breath along with Tony as they waited for the captains reply. The funny thing was, Tony already knew what had happened. It was written in every grim line of Stefen’s face. But there was still some part of Tony that insisted on holding onto hope until Stefen placed a hand on both boy’s shoulders and said the words aloud.

"The Reich has revoked the papers of all polish immigrants whom the state classifies as Jewish. They were accused of abusing German hospitality and illegally occupying employment. They were told their crimes would be forgiven if they agreed to immediately return to Poland, after signing an agreement never to come back. They were loaded on the last shipment out. I'm sorry."

The bottom fell out of Tony’s stomach. Just like that? Booted out with just the clothes on their backs? No food, no money, no travel papers, and two sons left behind them?

"No!" Daniel snapped with confidence Tony was having a hard time mustering. "You made a mistake. They would never sign that. They would never leave without us!”

Stefen's mouth tightened, a haunted expression fleeting through his eyes and Tony knew even if he wouldn't say it, what would make a pair sign a confession of guilt and swear to leave their home and their children behind them.

"Listen to me boys," Stefen spoke very quiet. "They had no choice. You understand? The Germans will not take no for an answer. It was either sign or face prison."

"But they are innocent! Father’s not even a Jew, and he’s been here since he was a boy. This is the only home our mother knows! How are they supposed to survive in Poland when they have nothing?!" Daniel shouted, full of outrage, but it was the naked desperation in in his eyes that hit them all like a physical blow. It was desperation for answers that no one had to give.

It was extraordinarily painful in a way he'd never expected to feel, watching these youths realize that the truth: the Germans did not care whether the people they were deporting lived or died.

"I don't know." Stefen confessed, the word sounding torn from him. The room plunged into silence, but for the sound of harsh breathing.  Tony wanted to scream.

"I've spoken to some friends of mine. With time we might be able to determine which town they are headed to.” Stefen thankfully broke up the endless cycle of breathes so heavy in Tony’s ears.

The captain didn’t say it, but he didn’t have to.  It was there in the eyes of both boys, that they understood such a journey would be a one-way trip, fraught with peril. What if the captain’s information was wrong and they ended up in an entirely different town than their parents? They’d be stuck in a foreign country with nothing to help them, without even being able to speak the language. It was a horrible fate to imagine, but Tony knew how it was worse in some ways, to be safe not knowing the fate of your loved ones.

"But you’ll stay here of course.” Pepper declared, approaching both boys to wrap them in a protective embrace. There was a fierceness in her eyes as she spoke, her gaze locked not on the boys themselves but Stefen, daring him to challenge her. “You can work for the captain. Or if you prefer, you can find jobs elsewhere. Both of you are strong boys, and there will be many jobs to fill. I’m sure it’s what your parents would want. Isn’t that right Captain?”

“Of course.” Stefen agreed, squeezing their shoulders gently before commanding more than suggesting that they get as much sleep as they could and let him know their decision in the morning. He was sincere, but Tony could see written on his face a sort of resignation. He knew just as Tony knew, what cold comfort safety was to them right now.

It was breaking Tony’s heart. But Stefen, if he felt anything at all kept his feeling wrapped away. At that moment hurried footsteps came again and Julia appeared in the doorway, looking tense and slightly out of breath.

"The telephone was ringing in your study, Captain.” She revealed anxiously. “I hope you don't mind, I just thought with everything going on it might be important."

She had a faded bit of cardstock in her hands, Tony noticed, which trembled as she approached Stefen and offered it to him. Stefen took the piece of paper from her, nodding dismissively as his eyes began roving over the message she had scrawled there.

"I wrote it exactly as he said it, but I’m not sure I heard it right and he was in such a rush. It all sounded like gibberish." She fretted, biting her pink lower lip and wringing her hands.

"You did fine." Stefen spared her a momentary glance and a stiff smile.  His expression had darkened, a repressed sort of violence in the way he crumpled the paper in his hand. Whatever the message had been left, it was not good news.

"I think we'll have an early night tonight. It's been a trying day." Stefen announced suddenly and Tony’s eyebrows shot up. It was only half past four.

"But what about dinner?" James immediately protested, red head popping up from the floor. Stefen's weary blue eyes rested on him just long enough to answer.

"Something will be brought up."

Pepper glanced to Hortense who quickly nodded and scurried out, no doubt to inform Willamina.

"But the sun is still out, how can we sleep when-" James, undeterred, continued to protest but he fell silent when the captain pinched the bridge of his nose and snapped.

 "Then catch up on your school work! You've fallen behind in your English, haven't you?"

Tony winced. James had been slipping behind his siblings in languages, but Tony had not been exactly giving his pupils his full attention, lately had he?

James flinched, his small slightly round face clouding with shame that quickly gave way to temper. Thankfully Pepper intervened, clapping her hands together lightly and gesturing rapidly for the children to gather their things.

“Come on children, you heard the Captain.”

As Ian and Péter rose from their seats and reluctantly gathered their things, James still looked as if he were deciding whether or not to expend the energy on having a fit and Tony tried to cut him off at the crossroad.

“Yes, quiet is what we all need I think. And nice big cups of hot chocolate.”

James paused, debating for a moment more before he sighed and snatched up his sketchbook and grumpily replied, “so long as mine has cream. I suppose I could be trapped in my room for _hours_.”

Tony just barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the way he managed to make hours sound like months.

When Pepper and the children had filed out, Daniel and Cameron following behind after the housekeeper urged them along with a few sympathetic clucks of her tongue, Tony and Bucky turned to the captain expectantly.

“We should quit meeting like this," Tony attempted to joke, but it felt we off even to him. "It only ever seems to bring bad news."

Stefen’s voice was subdued as he replied, the look in his eyes grim.

"I'm sorry I can't disappoint you. They've set the execution date."

Bucky inhaled sharply, snatching the message out of Stefen's hands to read it for himself.

"Damn.” He cursed under his breath. “November the fifteenth?"

That didn’t give them a lot of time Tony thought with alarm. Just over two weeks.

"It gets worse," Stefen grunted. "We've been invited to join Schmidt for a party at the Berghof the following week. Schmidt has many stops planned along the route."

Tony's heart dropped into his stomach at the news. There was to be a party at the Führer’s home? That was an honor few received. But it was to be expected really, he thought with a touch of fear. Stefen was legend in Austria and what with the tour, all of Germany had become captivated by his unusually gifted little family. And it was so dangerous. This was why Tony’s father had always kept him in the background. It was dangerous to have the love of the people. They’d always want more of you, and Hitler was a jealous leader.

"Can you get out of it?" Bucky immediately demanded, obviously not liking the thought of Stefen and the children making the journey any more than Tony did. Stefen gave him a dry look.

"Reject an invitation to the Berghof? No."

"But you've got to." Bucky countered with a snap, waving the card with the message from their contact at Dachau. "They’re going to be executed! We promised Susann and Jessika we’d rescue them!”

"I can’t be in two places at once." Stefen replied, voice low and ragged with frustration. "And we won’t have the others to help either. They’ll never be able to mobilize in time, not now that they’ve been sent to the polish border."

Two weeks. Tony’s thoughts began to pick up speed. They had two weeks to rescue Lucas and the two doctors, and somehow without Stefen there to lead.

"We can't just leave them there!" Bucky was snapping, a violent sort of grief twisting his voice darkly and Stefen stepped toward him, the same sharpness in his eye Tony had witnessed just before he pulled the trigger during target practice and Tony (because he was still a perfect idiot) stepped between them placing a hand on Stefen’s chest to hold him back.

"How many were you expecting?" Bucky just heaved an aggravated breath and Tony shot him a look he hoped begged for the other man to just work with him on this, because Stefen was wound tightly and not in any place to think clearly. Stefen wanted to beat himself up, not Bucky, Tony knew that, but those two had the strangest sort of pact that they were free to knock each other over the head in substitute of punching bags; and there was no time for it now. Fighting over what they couldn't change wasn't going to help a damn thing.

Tony curled the hand against Stefen's chest and turned his head to ask once more, "How many men do you need?"

"It was supposed to be the two of us, and three others." Stefen admitted, perplexed.

"Why five?" Tony asked, mind racing ahead. Pieces of thought flying out of the corners of his mind and taking new shape.

"We need a fighting force, but we have to be able to get in without being noticed and to move quickly."

Right. Because their man inside was only able to buy them just enough time to get in and out. And they expected to be pursued after the fact... but what if they weren't? What if there was a way to get in and out with no one the wiser?

There was, Tony realized. The final piece clicking to into place, his new utterly crazy (perfect, beautiful) plan fully formed in all its bold audacity.

"You only need one." Tony announced and Stefen's head reared back slightly with stunned surprise, confusion written all over his face. Bucky scoffed loudly.

"What are you on about now? Of course we need more than one. I’m a good shot but I can’t pull something like that off on my own, are you nuts?!"

"No listen,” Tony waved him impatiently to silence. “There's a way for us to do this, with just one man. The right man."

"Who?" Stefen demanded just as Bucky loudly challenged, "What do you mean us?"

Both men looked startled to hear the other speak, gazes snapping together once more and coming to some mutual decision within seconds.

"Who?" Stefen repeated the question softly.

"Cardinal Rossi." Tony answered.

"Who?" demanded Bucky once more, and Tony rolled his eyes heavenward because it was beginning to sound like they had an owl trapped in the room.

"There are clergymen imprisoned at the camp. Abbott Farkas has been working with the Vatican to see them released." he explained.

"How's that going?" Bucky asked, a sardonic twist to his smile and Tony grimaced.

"As well as you could expect. But the point is, my friend Bruce has been placed there, to be a Chaplain to the imprisoned men of faith and assure they aren’t being unduly mistreated while the Führer and the Pope come to terms. He says the Germans have abandoned God. That they don't fear anything. Only that's not quite true. Is it?” Tony paused, and when he saw that he had their full attention now he went on. “Hitler fears the people. At least enough to know he has to control them. Religion had them first and it still holds a lot of sway over the common man. He knows it is better if they work together, at least for a time, and for that bloody pact to hold together he needs play a careful game. That is why he has agreed to release a group of monks who were recently arrested."

"That's great..." Stefen seemed to decide as he said it, but he was obviously wondering what the hell it had to do with freeing his friends.

"It is, because Cardinal Rossi is coming to personally oversee their release and to collect Bruce from his assignment. Bruce is meant to journey with him to Rome to give a full report."

The silence that followed was full of expectation, and nervous tension. Tony could see them both thinking but could tell that they had not yet fully grasped the potential set before them.

"So, this Cardinal goes in... to get his priests or whatever, and our men slip in with the bunch? Is that what you're suggesting?" Stefen finally asked and Tony wanted to ring a bell. He settled for a reserved nod.

"Can we trust this cardinal fellow to do that?" Bucky asked, brow furrowed deeply in suspicion. "Some fancy official from Rome. Why would he help us? I don’t like it. You can’t trust the Italians far as you can throw em."

"I'm not suggesting we actually trust our plans to the cardinal. " Tony replied stiffly, choosing to ignore the jab against Italians. "He'd never agree to it anyway. His allegiance is to the church and her interests. Believe me if it means survival they’ll crawl in bed with Hitler. "

"Then what are you suggesting?" Stefen asked, growing impatient.

"Well it's obvious, isn’t it? Nobody knows the man by face. You've seen one man in a ridiculous robe you've seen them all. We'd need the abbot's help; but with a letter with the right stamps on it, there's no reason Cardinal Rossi can't show up early to take a few more lost lambs than originally expected. There will be confusion, suspicion, but with the stunt the Nazi’s just pulled, and a public to convince their actions were justified, they can't afford the church to start preaching against them in earnest. Which means they can't afford to piss off Cardinal Rossi because somebody messed up the paperwork."

It was silent for a long drawn out moment. Tony waited anxiously, knowing the plan was brilliant but also knowing there was a chance that either of them might not see it that way.

"That could work," Bucky admitted with a soft grunt finally, his eyes flickering over Tony with the briefest sort of mercurial surprise, before he looked over to Stefen "It's mental, but it could actually work.  We could contact Lang. He's got a truck we can use to haul the boat. We park the boat at the rendezvous point. I go in on the day, pretending to be Rossi. Our guy on the inside keeps his end of the deal and causes a crisis. In the middle of the mess nobody's going to want to sort out how many fat friars they were supposed to release."

Stefen still looked hesitant, obviously torn over the idea and Tony knew why a moment later.

"I don't like the fact that this plan endangers innocents. The Brothers, and your friend Bruce…” Stefen’s eyes met his gravely. “Tony, if anything went wrong they'd be killed just as readily as Bucky and any of the resistance."

Tony hadn't thought of that, and he couldn’t say it didn’t give him a moment pause; but in the end he knew what Bruce would say and he could guess at what the imprisoned Brothers would as well.

"Bruce knew there was a risk he'd never be allowed to leave when he agreed to the assignment. And those brothers, they are in prison because they stood against the police when they wanted to violate the law of sanctuary to get at a family of gypsies. If they were here, I don’t think they’d be too afraid to take the risk."

And neither am I, he thought as he finished.

"I should be the one who goes."

Tony had not known he was going to say it until just before the words slipped out, but as he might have predicted Stefen jerked as if Tony had slapped him.

 Bucky’s eyes on the other hand narrowed shrewdly in appraisal.

"He looks more Italian than either me or Lang, that’s for sure," was all he said but Stefen shot him a deadly glare.

"Absolutely not. This is not a game Tony."

"I know it's not. " Tony immediately snapped in reply, furious that Stefen would dismiss him so easily, and in that particular way. "I didn’t think it was a game when it was you and Bucky against a camp full of SS!”

"That's not what I meant." Stefen allowed, looking slightly chagrined and Tony pressed while he had the advantage.

"But isn't it? You still think you're the one who has to do all the fighting. You're the soldier. I'm just supposed to sit by with my thumb up my ass looking like- What was it you called me Bakhuizen, a pretty boy?"

Bucky didn't look the slightest bit uncomfortable or sorry to suddenly be the focus of Tony's attention as he ranted. The man’s mouth just tilted upward in a half sort of smirk as he crossed his arms and shrugged.

"Those were the words, yeah." He drawled, accent thickening Tony was sure just to be an asshole about it.

"You're not helping!" Stefen growled at him in aggravation. When he turned to look back at Tony, his struggle to speak calmly and clearly was in every line of his face.

"It's not about how capable you are Tony. You don’t want to know what they’ll do to you if they catch you. I asked when I agreed to make you part of this, to trust me to know when something was too dangerous. I’m asking you to trust me. "

He wanted to protest, but Tony had never heard such naked pleading in Stefen’s voice before.

"He's right Stark.” Bucky agreed after a beat of silence, expression sobering. “This could turn ugly quick and you're not a soldier."

Best leave the heroics to the fighting men went unsaid. Tony chafed at the implication, but Stefen's eyes begged him to relent, begged him not to push; but it wasn't that in the end that made Tony back down.

It was the desperation in those depths, the silent understanding between them both that if Tony pushed, Stefen feared he'd give in, and if he lost Tony as a result... Stefen was begging him not to make him face that.

 _Stay with me. Don't leave._   Tony had heard him whisper so often as they made love in the darkness.

If only he knew. If only there was a way to make him understand that there wasn’t anything in the world Tony didn’t think he’d sacrifice in order to stay by his side. He was Ruth, trembling before the alter of devotion.

_Entreat me not to part from thee. Where you die, there I will die. Where you are buried, so I am buried._

_So help me God._

\------<>\-------

Dear Tony,

I was very sorry to hear about the health of your aunt. I don't know much about healing that sort of affliction I'm afraid. Illnesses of the heart are often as delicate as they are deadly. Nevertheless, I will give you everything I have at my disposal to give.  Please send me a detailed list of her symptoms and her any description you can provide as to her usual color when she experiences these episodes of breathlessness. The more detail the better. And as a matter of course, I strongly urge you to consult with her physician before you take on your own methods for care.

Your brother in Christ,

Bruce.

 

\------<>\-------

_Why do you deserve to be safe?_

_What makes the great Antony Stark so different from the likes of Joshua Klein?_

Tony had retreated to his workshop after the meeting with Stefen and Bucky. The children had already been helped to their rooms and tucked away. Tony doubted sincerely that they would actually sleep for hours yet but that was hardly the point. They just needed to be somewhere safe and out of the way while the adults quietly broke down and reassembled themselves with a plan come morning.

But Tony had no time to take himself apart or let himself cry and worry about the future. What right did he have to do any of that? His future was set wasn’t it? He was safe because Hughard had falsified his birth documents and paid the right public official to ignore it. He was safe because Hughard had sent him to St. Péter’s abbey and to the world, Antony Stark was just an ordinary monk. Tony was safe because he was Captain Roger’s lover. He got to sit in the lap of luxury, safe and comfortable, while better men risked their lives.

He got to be safe, even if the Nazis did want him to build ships for them because Stefen shielded him. They had to take Tony at his word that he lacked the skills.

Well that was a god damn lie, wasn’t it? Tony had plenty of skill. And it was about time he used it for something other than silly games or children’s lessons. How many more people had to get hurt before he realized that?

He was working on the boat, the only useful thing he could do, and he didn’t know how many hours he’d been at it – only that his ears were ringing from the sound of the hammer he was using to line the belly with the sheets he’d crafted.

Clang after clang reverberated up his arms until they were sore and his head pounded with headache but he kept going, until something about the pounding caught his attention. It was different somehow, he paused, lowering his hammer as he realized the difference was that it was not in his head. Someone was knocking on the workshop door.

“If that’s you Cap, go away. I’m busy.” Tony shouted, staying paused a moment longer to hear a reply.  He was glad for it when he heard Péter’s voice come muffled through the door.

“Tony it’s me. Can I come in?”

Tony sighed, deliberating for a moment before crossing the room to open the door for him. Péter quickly stepped inside, so geared up to say something that at first he didn’t appear to notice the workshop at all.

“I’ve been thinking... We can’t just sit here. We- ” Péter halted mid-sentence, finally taking in Tony’s bare arms and disheveled appearance. He’d stripped down to his under shirt, which was now stained heavily with sweat and oil, and his trousers were a lost cause.  The boy’s eyes widened as he took Tony in and widened further as they began to take in the rest of the workshop, finally landing on the boat sitting partway assembled in the middle of the room.

“Oh wow.” He breathed in awe, changing is trajectory on a dime and making a beeline toward the boat, an eager hand reaching to touch. He glanced quickly back at Tony for reassurance. “Is this a racing boat?”

“Not exactly.” Tony answered, shutting the door of the workshop behind him. “She’s bigger, to carry more passengers, but her engine is going to make her the fastest thing on the water. Big bottom or no.”

“Are you taking the others on another excursion?” Péter asked, running his hand over the smooth sides of the boat. There was an edge of envy in his tone that Tony quickly tried to dispel.

“No. She’s for your father.”

Péter immediately frowned, finally tearing his eyes away from the half-constructed vessel long enough to pin Tony with a suspicious stare.

“Why does my father need a boat like this?”

Damn. With him being away, Tony had nearly forgotten how sharp Péter was.

“It’s better you don’t know.” he replied, not having the energy or the will to lie in that moment. The last thing any of them needed was more lies. Péter’s eyes narrowed, his jaw working mulishly and Tony sighed inwardly. “Before you argue with me Pete, can we just get one thing out of the way? Your father is not always right about everything, but he’s right about not involving you in things that could endanger your life.”

“I’m fifteen! Not a boy anymore.” Péter insisted, despite Tony’s attempt to derail the fight before it had a chance to begin.

“I know, you’re a man now. Congratulations. You’ve been at it now for what, a week?” Tony replied with a snap, exasperated and too exhausted to have this discussion. “Your father and I are a bit ahead of you. We have learned a thing or two while we’ve been out here. Let us protect you where we can.”

“You can’t protect me from the truth!” Péter yelled, his voice echoing within the stone walls of the workshop and they both winced. Lowering his voice slightly Péter thrust a finger in the direction of the boat and continued. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you tell me what that’s for, it’s here! He put us in jeopardy the minute he decided to fight them. I’m not scared and I’m not mad. I’m glad he’s fighting them.”

For once Tony was silent, struck numb by Péter’s words as they reverberated around his head. He was right of course. Stefen’s work with the resistance wasn’t just dangerous for him. If discovered there was no telling how his superiors would decide to punish him and where it would end. Stefen feared General Schmidt like the man was the devil himself, and Tony had no words for it, but he knew instinctively just from a single meeting that Stefen was right to be so afraid. And still he fought, and here Tony was, building him a one of a kind tool to use in his efforts and all but painting the name Stark upon its side.

They’d bargained not just their lives but the children’s, and he wasn’t sure if either one of them would take it back. Why pretend otherwise?

Péter’s voice was much softer as he continued, his hand trailing a touch lovingly over the smooth side of the boat again as he confessed, “I know what they’ve done to the gypsies Tony. And now look what they’ve done. It’s only going to get worse. Going on with my life and pretending I don’t know is just like saying I think it’s okay. Because when you can fight and you don’t fight, and people keep getting hurt… then it’s like they’re getting hurt because of you.”

Péter finished his little speech and looked up at him, mouth set stubbornly but so much longing for understanding in his eyes that Tony’s heart ached. He was so goddamn young. And so right.

Tony sighed and cast his hammer aside with a clang. Clearly his work was done here for the night.

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about doing. Your father wouldn’t approve… but I think it’s the right thing.”

Predictably, Péter’s eyes brightened and he perked up, immediately enthusiastic.

“What is it?”

“I know of a way to reach British Intelligence. Well, potentially.”

“How?” Péter immediately demanded to know, eyes widening in awe.

“The radio we built. I’ve passed messages before, at select times, presumably when it was least likely to be picked up by the Germans. If we do this, we won’t have that assurance.”

Péter’s expression sobered, his top teeth worrying his bottom lip as he considered what Tony himself was still considering.

“Britain has an army, and a lot of allies. If they know what’s going on here, they could help. They could force the Führer to step down.” He finally said, with a decisive little nod. “It’s worth it. Even if the Germans hear.”

Tony didn’t know. He was so torn… so deeply terrified of making the wrong choice. If something happened to Stefen or any of the children, and it was because of him? It made him weak with fear. He took a deep breath, thoughts racing inside his head.

Fear, even when legitimate, had to be controlled or it would control you. Hughard used to tell him that. A weak man is ruled by what he is afraid of, and Tony was not a weak man.

But was it worth it? Hadn’t Stefen made that choice already? Hadn’t they all watched him tear the Nazi flag in two and leave the pieces to fall where they may?

Hammer hadn’t reported to work since the day of the party. It could be he hadn’t felt safe on the road, or it could be the beginning of their end.

And if it was? Well, Tony understood what Péter meant. He wasn’t mad or scared. He was glad.

He was also decided.

 

~*~*~*~

 

**Broadcast from UKNOWN STATION**

Received date October 30th 1:00 AM

On Air: KNIGHT and unknown 3rd party (PAGE)

Transcribed and decoded by W. Holmes

This is the KNIGHT at the INN. You asked previously for a detailed report on the current health of Germany. I have acquired assistance, who will henceforth be known as PAGE. It is our solemn duty now to tell you what goes on now in the body known as Germany.

On October the 28th an estimated 17,000 thousand Jews were expelled from German lands and forced across the border illegally, into the country of Poland. At 8:00 in the evening on October the 27th and continuing till morning, the German police came to the homes of Jews who had previously immigrated from Poland with orders to round them up for deportation. There was no consideration for the illegality of this action. Immigrants who have long thought themselves German and held the documentation to support that fact, now found themselves classified as aliens.

In many cases they took only those they now classified as illegal, separating spouses and parents from their children. In others they took whole families- forcing small children from their beds and to dress quickly without resistance or disturbing their neighbors.

They were allowed to take nothing with them or put any of their affairs in order. Understand. In a single night, their lives as they knew them were over.

The deportees were forced into concert halls, mail rooms, and other spontaneous holding cells where they were forced to sign documents that confessed guilt to crimes they did not commit and contained their promises never to return to Germany. Those who refused to sign were tortured until they complied. There were deaths in the holding halls, though there was no official count kept.

Friday night, trains and trucks all over the country carried men and women to the border of Poland near the cities of Zbaszyn and Beuthen – and still more came across German land on foot, urged on by the beating of German police.

Many of the old and infirm died due to the rough conditions of transport. Others were shot attempting to escape their fate. The death count is unknowable and Germany unconcerned with counting. The Reich has tasked cleanup crews of impoverished German Jews to clear out empty homes and dispose of bodies.

The Polish government is holding the refugees in internment, leaving thousands of deportees stranded in a single town without food, shelter, or access to medical care. They are unable to support them and demand Germany either allow them to return to their homes or provide aide for their welfare while they attempt to resolve the situation.

Germany is deaf to these demands.

People are dying and still more will die if nothing is done.

Germany is sick. This is a truth we all must accept and that our friends at the castle must hear. We implore you to act. We need you to act.

This is the Knight and the PAGE, standing guard at the INN.

-

 

Tony swallowed through the tightness in his throat, heart drumming loudly in the silence of the attic. Sitting over on a closed trunk Péter watched him, an uncanny stillness in his posture as they both breathed shallowly into the silence. Waiting.  Tony didn’t expect an answer but he hoped they’d heard. He hoped they told the world, and the bastards finally began to understand what they’d done with their silence as Hitler took power in Germany.

They’d been sitting in the silence and dark for quite some time, just breathing and thinking about what they’d just done, so that when the radio crackled to life with a burst of unexpected static they both jumped in shock. Tony’s heart was thudding so loudly within his ears he barely caught the first few words of the transmission.

“Transmission received.” An unfamiliar man spoke, his voice low and deep with urgency, but blessedly and undeniably British. “Stand fast.”

There was another crackle of static before the radio quieted once more.

Tony was not naïve enough to think that whoever had sent the transmission had any say in whether or not the British or anyone else would move to stop Hitler. But the men at the Castle had heard. They knew the truth about what Hitler was doing and that truth might make it to the right ears. It was a small hope, but certainly better than nothing.

 

~*~~*~~*~

_Castle._

_Do you need a river of blood to wet your feet before you can observe the obvious? The time for action passed while you gorged yourself on your illusions of immunity. Chamberlin must act against Hitler. Surely even you can see that?_

_\- Hound_

_~*~~*~~*~_

Péter had barely closed his eyes after returning from his secret rendezvous with Tony when something poked him awake. Something dull and pointed was jabbing him in the back he realized as he jerked groggily from sleep, eyes widened in sudden terror at the sight of the dark shape looming over him in the darkness.

Before he could cry out, a hand slammed down over his mouth and a familiar voice urgently shushed him.

“Be quiet.” Natacha whispered, briefly lighting the torch she held in her hands just long enough to illuminate her face as she slowly releasing his mouth.  She flicked it off a moment later and plunged the room back into darkness. It was too dark in the room for her to see the glare he threw at her as her dark silhouette moved away from the side of his bed, but Péter wouldn’t put it past Natacha to have discovered some way to see in the dark like a cat. She certainly moved as quietly as one. In the seconds Péter had wasted calming his racing heart she’d already made it to his bedroom door.

“What’s wrong?” He hissed as quietly as he could, scrambling from his bed. Was it the Germans? Could they have tracked their broadcast that quickly? Could they track it at all? Or maybe one of the staff had overheard. Maybe they’d been reported and the police were here to –

“Be quiet, and come quick.”

Natacha’s whisper interrupted his frantic thoughts as she opened his bedroom door with a creak. She slipped into the hall and Péter hurried to catch up trying to be mindful of the floorboards he knew that creaked.

“What’s going on?” he repeated the question and this time she answered him, even if it was in a very Natacha way.

“It’s the Klein’s.”

She didn’t say what she meant by that, but Péter knew his sister well enough to know that he’d probably see for himself soon enough; because Natacha would not have gotten him out of bed like this unless it was important.

She led them all the way downstairs, past the ballroom and into the back near the kitchens. As they approached the kitchen doors Péter thought he heard movement from within, the shuffling of feet and the sound of whispered voices.

What were Cameron and Daniel doing up at this hour? Perhaps they couldn’t sleep and had come for something to drink – but no, Péter immediately tossed the thought aside. Natacha would not have woken him up for that.

There was a sharp clang from within as something dropped and without preamble, Natacha pushed the door open, shining her torch light on the pair who froze in its beam like a pair of terrified rabbits. They had pilfered a potato sack from somewhere and looked to be in the middle of raiding the pantry. It didn’t take Péter long to put together what they were doing and why.

“You’re stealing from us.” Natacha accused, flicking off her light and plunging them into the dark once more, leaving only the light from the moon filtering in from the window. Cameron must have recognized her voice because he sighed audibly in relief.

“Damn. We thought you were the captain.” He said, stepping closer and into the light spilling in from the window.

“What makes you think we won’t go get him?” Natacha was challenging him, and Péter could see Daniel tense like he was ready to run, but Cameron just shrugged.

“You’re so good at sneaking Tacha, I figure if you was you would have already.”

That made Péter grin.

“Well he’s got your number,” he muttered under his breath and he could feel his sister’s answering glare even in the dark.

 “Why are you doing this?” She hissed at Cameron instead. “Father said he’d take care of you both. Why are you stealing from us and running away?”

Cameron’s face fell, his head drooping with shame. It hurt to see the anguish on his face, almost as much as the knowledge of what had put it there. The villa was home to Péter, but it wasn’t just his home. Joshua had helped his father nail every board and lay every brick. Frau Klein had helped his mother run the house and watched over her while she was pregnant with Péter, Daniel toddling around her feet and Cameron strapped to her back. It had never mattered to Péter the way it mattered to Harry that they sometimes employed their neighbors.

He wasn’t naive. He knew houses like theirs had always run that way, and that some people thought there should be a greater distinction between the classes, but it was a new era. The Great War had made men equal in a way they hadn’t been before, and Péter’s parents had always approved of that change. The Klein’s had never been just staff here. They were friends, and weaved into the fabric of what had made the villa home. It must feel like a betrayal in some ways, to leave this way.

“Because they have to try and find their family.” Péter filled in when the silence had stretched too painfully, sparing either Cameron or Daniel from either having to defend their action or beg pardon for it.

“They could ask!” Natacha insisted after a beat, though she sounded as if she only half believed the words herself. “Father would help them.”

“The Captain has already done what he can.” Daniel stated, stepping forward with more confidence now that he saw they really weren’t going to run and get their father. “The Germans dumped our parents in Poland and nobody knows or cares what happened to them next. It could take your father months to find them, and he has his own family to worry about.”

“You might not find them either.” Péter pointed out. The words hurt to say, but they would have hurt more just sitting in his chest. “If our father can’t…”

“We’ll find them.” Daniel insisted with the kind of will born of desperation. “We can do more on the ground than your father can do. People may feel better talking to us than a man in uniform.”

Péter winced. Natacha’s grip on the torch tightened but she said nothing.

“We’ve got to try.” Cameron sounded almost apologetic as he broke the silence. “Wouldn’t you if it was your family?”

 _If it was your family._  The words got under Péter’s skin like the prick of a needle. It wasn’t even that it could very well be his family one day. It was the realization that this was happening to his family right now, and to pretend otherwise, would mean pretending that he agreed with Harry when he said he shouldn’t be too friendly with the people who mopped his floors. Worst of all it would mean pretending that he agreed with the Nazis, who had taken the Klein’s lives apart on the grounds that they were worthless outsiders.

But they weren’t outsiders, and they certainly weren’t worthless. Not to Péter.

_Are you ready to act Péter? Or are you just someone who looks at stars?_

Péter clenched and unclenched his fists, heart pounding as he came to a decision.

“We’re going to need more food than this, but we’ll still need to travel light.” Péter mused, a shaky plan forming quickly within his mind. He was prepared for it when Daniel and Cameron exchanged shocked looks, eyebrows arching in surprise and When Natacha turned toward him sharply and flashed the beam of her torch in his face.

“Ouch Tacha, stop it.” Péter hissed under his breath, throwing up his hands to shield his eyes as the light blinded him.

“You said _we_. Don’t be stupid Péter. I know what that means.”

“Yes. Look, they have to go through the Sudetenland to get to Poland. Turn off that damn light!”

“There is fighting in the Sudentenland Péter! You’ll all be shot and killed.” Natacha growled in reply as it went dark once more and Péter blinked the spots from his eyes.

“We’re not going to be shot. Most of the Czech rebellion has been subdued.” He insisted, trying to remember to keep his voice low when he wanted nothing better to do than pull her hair the way he used to when they’d fought when they were younger. “But they’re not going to get far without travel papers regardless and they’ll never make it on foot. You know they won’t!”

Péter had papers for travel and money. They could come up with a story for Cameron and Daniel, or simply claim theirs to be lost. People were more likely to accept a bribe from a good German boy with the right kind of papers than not.

“Péter, we can’t ask – ” Cameron began to refuse but Péter cut him off with a shake of his head.

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. Three minds are better than two and with my tools, you stand a better chance than if I don’t go, so I’m going. I’ll get you to Poland-” Péter turned to Natacha who was still gripping his arm tightly and laid his hand over hers. “And then I’ll turn around and get on the first train home. I’ll be back before you can even start to miss me.”

Her eyes searched his desperately for a moment, looking for some hint of weakness but Péter was resolved. She was scared, he knew that. He was scared too, but this was the right thing to do.

“If they had taken you and the others and it was me, trying to find you, they’d help me, and you’d want them to.” He squeezed her hand gently, understanding how hard it was for her to let go either way. Her mouth pinched, expression shuttering until her face was cool and blank once more.

“You’re being a colossal idiot Péter. But if you’re going then I’m going with you.” She declared, sounding too close to resolve for his liking.

“No Tacha-”

“Why? Because I’m a _woman_?” her eyes flashed dangerously at him and Péter hastily corrected her.

“Because we’ll never get anywhere without a head start. Father’s going to come after us as soon as he knows we’re gone. Somebody has to stay to stall him.” And Natacha _was_ a girl, Péter thought privately. He’d never be stupid enough to say so to her out loud, but regardless of the tools at his disposal, it was a dangerous journey he wasn’t at all sure would go smoothly. He was thankful when he’d never thought he’d be that he had the pistol Bucky had given him and that his father had taught him to shoot it. He liked it better that she’d be here where it was safe. No matter how tough he knew she was.

“You want me to keep father from realizing that the three of you are gone for _days_?” Natacha hissed incredulously. “Are you mad? He’ll murder me, and then he’s going to track you down, and burry your corpse wherever he happens to find you. Here lies Péter Rogers, the thickest boy who ever lived!”

Cameron smothered an involuntary chuckle in his sleeve and Péter frowned, crossing his arms in irritation. Why did Natacha have to be so stubborn all the time, and think she knew best?

“I know you can’t stall him for days, alright? But you can give us a day. I know how clever you are Natacha. If anyone can manage it, it’s you.” He wheedled, because Tony always said flattery never hurt when it came to persuasion. Squeezing her hand once more he pleaded as earnestly as he was able. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks through fingers* Peter noooooo.
> 
> A/N. Thoughts? Predictions? Death threats, lol? We love you guys and will see you soon on Part II. If you have a moment we ask that you R & R. Not gonna lie, we'd finish anyway (too emotionally invested) but it's awesome to hear your thoughts and responses to the characters and their decisions, and waters our spirits on those tougher writer days.


	15. November Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second half of the November arc. After discovering Peter's deception Tony and Steve face an unforeseen tragedy as violence sweeps through the nation. With clear lines drawn, it is up to good people to act, and Tony is ready to take up that challenge with fire and fury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two. Once again, heavy warnings for violence, antisemitism, child endangerment, and an additional warning for dub-con. Steve is not intentionally malicious here, but both he and Tony are in a state of duress and the lines of consent get crossed. I think we've made it clear what Tony decides he needs in that moment but that doesn't make it right. In other words, don't try this shit at home. I'm serious, don't try any of it.
> 
> Special note.   
> 1\. FIOT and I wanted to do the horrors of this particular night justice. Between the two of us we've spent hours reading personal accounts, memoirs from survivors, and reading official accounts and records. We've chosen to take details from these accounts in homage. The horror you are about to witness are all things people really survived, though perhaps not all in the same towns.

_November 1 st Morning_

**Jews abroad accuse Germany!**

Salzburg Herald, November 1st

_Is there any length to which the Jew, wherever he finds himself, will not stretch in order to inflict suffering? In the following days since Germany’s bold efforts to rid herself of those Jews which threatened such an economical strain and such a burden on her proud shoulders, undue censure from parties abroad - from the Eifel tower all the way to the shores of the Americas – have been heaped upon her. She is accused of inhumane acts, and blamed for the disastrous economic conditions beyond the borders of Poland – even as she is denied many of her ancestral rights to these lands, now governed by the very men who wish to be praised for foisting their lowest citizens upon her back._

_These slanderers, motivated undoubtedly by a desire to subdue fair Germany and interfere in German affairs, are primarily Jews, who feel a kinship with their Polish kin. They cry “How Unfair!” – But the good German stands resolute. In the words of Herr_ _Joseph Goebbels, “We stand ready to defend the honor of our great nation by whatever means necessary. We shall not be intimidated by this Jewish coalition!”_

_-_

It was snowing. Light fluffy tufts of the stuff drifting down from the sky past the windows of his bedroom. In the mountains it had snowed constantly. Steve could almost have grown to like it for the quiet stillness it brought, and the deceptive spell of warmth that it settled around their shoulders. But there were so many dangers that came with the snow. The loss of visibility and the chance that you might not see your enemy sneaking up on you. And always, lurking at the back of all of their minds, was the fear of when it stopped. When everything turned to ice and the temperature plummeted so low their breaths froze in their lungs. The lucky ones fell asleep while the snow was still falling and simply didn’t wake. Dying after the ice had set was slow, the minutes sluggishly sliding past while your mind left you and your heart slowed.

Steve was bone tired, but he’d woken just as the sun began to brighten the sky the same way he did every morning, and he set about dressing for his morning exercise regime with the same steadiness. He could not afford to be dissuaded, even by the weather. The war would come regardless of whether or not he was training with his men.

He’d not rested well. Tony had spent the previous night in his workshop instead of coming to Steve’s room, claiming to be behind in his work on the boat. Steve had offered to stay with him while he worked, but Tony had begged off, urging Steve to try and catch up on the sleep he’d missed the last couple of days.

He could tell that Tony wanted to concentrate on his work and could even understand why he did not want Steve hovering around… but he had neither the courage nor the words to tell him that he didn’t know how he could possibly sleep without him there. He’d gone to bed alone because it was the sensible thing to do and because it was not Tony’s job to mother him like a babe.  A grown man should be able to manage a few hours of sleep on his own. Nightmares or no.

Steve was spending his waking hours split between the visits and meetings that Schmidt had organized in the wake of the critical response pouring in from abroad after the mass deportation of the Polish Jews. He was also trying his best to discreetly gather information in order to discern what might be coming in the future.

Because something was coming. He could feel it, the same way his grand da, Ian, used to be able to feel a storm approaching.

Steve went downstairs to find Virginia.

Perhaps he should get an early breakfast prepared and brought up to Tony?

He should probably try and eat something himself before he went to fetch Charlotte, who was returning from Vienna on the morning train, but he didn’t have the stomach for it that morning. He’d been forced to go without enough times to know his body’s limits. Tony on the other hand was revealing a worrisome propensity to forget his bodily needs entirely in favor of his work in the workshop.

He found Virginia and Julia setting the table in the dining room just as he expected, but Herr Hammer was the real surprise. The butler was in his uniform, looking polished and pressed as he had every morning of the past decade, save the two days previous.

Hammer’s sympathies with the Nazi Party were not a secret, and had certainly put a strain on their relationship over the past year; but Steve had resisted letting him go on those grounds alone.  The butler had served his family diligently and faithfully all these years, and took an uncanny amount of pride in his position. Hammer had talked so proudly of the long line of fine butlers in his family when Steve had first hired him. In truth he and Peggy had few options, after the scandal of her pregnancy and her engagement to a nobody from nowhere had made her the black sheep of Austrian high society. Hammer had been one of the only men they’d interviewed who didn’t seem bothered by Steve’s low social standing.

_“If our boys can get their legs blown off so she can buy another pretty hat, the least she can do is give a fellow a bit of thanks. Right Captain?”_

They did not always see eye to eye he and Hammer, but Steve tried to keep in mind that the world wasn’t split between people you enjoyed and bad people.

Even so, he’d taken a terrible risk ripping that flag in front of Hammer. But it was done now and if his loyalty to the family could not be counted on, Steve counted on the man’s good sense to know that it would be his word against the rest of the house if he went to the authorities.

That might not be enough a fearful voice needled at him, but he pushed it down, because if he gave into the fear, then he’d never have the strength to take aim and pull the trigger again.

“Jürgen.”

Hammer jerked at the unexpected sound of Steve’s voice, but pretended as if he hadn’t. He made a point of finishing the place setting he was working on, even as Virginia and Julia both paused to great him with brief respectful nods. When he was satisfied with his work the butler finally turned to look at him.

“Major?”

Steve grit his teeth. There was a tone to the way Hammer spoke his title now, a subtle jeer as if he were smirking behind his teeth.

“It’s good to have you with us this morning. We were beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”

“I’ve devoted my life here for near sixteen years Captain. It’s more my home than my own house isn’t it? I simply did not want to risk making the journey until things settled down.” The butler explained with ease. “My apologies if you suffered in my absence.”

“It’s fine.” Steve responded even though it wasn’t. Hammer seemed the picture of apologetic now, and he wondered if he’d only imagined the tone he’d thought he’d heard.

“I won’t dock your pay, just ring with word next time.” He scolded, unwilling to just let it go. “We worried when you just disappeared.”

“Of course, Major.”

That issue handled for the time being, Steve turned to his head house maid.

“Julia, could you have Willamina prepare a tray for Herr Stark and have it brought to his room? He’s not feeling well enough to come down to breakfast.”

In truth Tony probably felt fine besides the lack of sleep, but waking him up to eat breakfast with the children wasn’t going to fix that particular problem.

Virginia’s brow puckered with worry as Julia nodded and quickly disappeared through the serving door and into the kitchen to relay the request.

“She already prepared a tray of soup for the Klein boys.” Virginia clucked. “Natacha was down here earlier, says the poor lambs have been sick. It’s all this terrible stress.”

“Did you look in on them?” Steve asked, concerned. Cameron and Daniel had been through a lot over the past few days. They didn’t need to be ill on top of things.

“Down one maid and Cameron recuperating, I’ve not had the time. Natacha offered to keep an eye on them, bless her.” Pepper sighed. "Should we expect you for breakfast this morning Captain?"

"No, I’m going for my exercise in the garden, and then I have a morning meeting in town. Don't have the children wait."

"Yes Captain."

Virginia nodded and got back to her work. Stefen exited the dining room through the service door and walked down the long narrow hall to the kitchen.  He was not surprised to find the kitchen busy, but he raised his eyebrows in question when he saw that Natacha and Ian were both up, sitting at the table with cups of warm coco.

 Natacha was already dressed for the day, hair perfectly pleated, and Ian was noticeably in his clothes meant for exercise and play.

"Good morning Da," he called out hopefully as Steve entered, taking a hasty sip from his mug as he pushed back his chair. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd start my routine early this morning… with you. Natacha said you wouldn’t mind."

Steve had the fleeting thought that Ian tagging along meant he wouldn't be able to push himself as hard as he would like, and he’d been rather desperately looking forward to pushing himself until he sweat the thoughts right out of his head, but he let the it go, not willing to deny him when it was still sitting so fresh on his mind how easily a man could find his family torn from him.

"That sounds alright" he agreed, laying an arm over Ian's shoulder when the boy came to stand beside him. If he held on a little too tight Ian didn’t say anything about it.

"How are Cameron and Daniel?" he asked his daughter, who was watching them closely from where she sat, primly drinking from her mug.

"They’ve been retching all morning. They’re likely contagious if they both fell ill so quickly. No one must go near them, clearly, but still somebody must. Virginia can’t afford to be down anymore staff. So I suppose that leaves playing nurse to me." she answered, sounding very proper and grown up.  It startled him, how much like Peggy she’d just sounded. It was like he'd just walked into the kitchen three years in the past, to find his wife sipping her morning tea and taking the rare moment to rest her feet while she chatted with the cook. 

A familiar sort of longing panged in his chest, the way he suspected it always would when he thought of his late wife, but the feeling was not as sharp or as suffocating as it had once been.

"I appreciate that Natacha," he was sure to tell her, so incredibly fond in that moment he had a hard time figuring out how to tell her, besides to smile and hope she knew.  “But don’t risk your health. Short visits, and if they need anything longer or show signs of worsening you fetch Virginia immediately. You hear me?”

“Yes Father.” She agreed easily. Too easily. Steve narrowed his eyes at her.

“Alright. What are you hiding?”

She choked a little as she swallowed her coco, and Steve was gratified to know he hadn’t completely lost the ability to read his daughter. Strange and new womanly wiles or no.

“Hiding?”

“Yes. You’re trying to hide something.” Steve was certain. “What is it?”

Ian stared curiously between them both as Natacha clutched her cup, staring at him with the guilelessness of a lamb but Steve knew that just meant she was trying to think up some way to avoid answering him.

He felt a small smile forming as he leaned toward her, making a show of looming as he crossed his arms imperiously and waited.

“Oh alright, if you must know.” She sagged in her chair with frustrated snap. “Péter is gone.”

Steve’s smile slipped away.

“Gone where?” he demanded to know. The deportations were finished for the time being and most of the looting contained, but it could still be dangerous this far out in the country, what with escapees on the run and patrols searching for them. They’d roped the local HJ chapters into helping them in their search for runaways. As soon as he thought it Steve realized where Péter must have gone. Where did he always go when he snuck out, thinking Steve wouldn’t notice?

“He’s gone to see Harry hasn’t he?”

Natacha blinked slowly, possibly still hoping to think of a way to avoid snitching on her brother before she nodded.

“Yes… you know how he and Harry are. Péter only has a few days left at home. He’d want to see Harry as much as he can.”

Steve was anxious, and irritated that Péter was still pulling these childish bouts of rebellion, but he did what he could to let it go. He’d have a talk with him when he got home. Truthfully, Steve was hurt that Péter hadn’t just asked him. He’d hoped that things had changed between them enough that Péter would trust him enough to know he wouldn’t refuse to let him see Harry anymore.

Even if Steve thought the other boy was a bad influence, he knew how much their friendship meant to Péter. He trusted Péter to know his own mind.  But more importantly he realized, even if Péter hadn’t yet, that the friendship between the two boys had a time limit, and the clock was only ticking downward.

 

~*~

 

Steve could not shake the feeling of unease that had plagued him all morning.  Something was coming. He was certain of it, though he was not sure from what direction. He had not survived this long as a soldier by ignoring his instincts.  He dropped Tony and the children off at the Festival hall in the city, so that they could have their practice with Nigel and argued quietly once more with Tony about the wisdom of allowing the children to perform in the winter concert. 

He knew Tony was right, that allowing the children to sing wasn't going to put them in any more danger than they were already, being forced as they were to accompany him all over Germany and perform at the parties of prominent Nazi party members. He even agreed with Tony's line of thinking that if the children were going to be forced to perform for the entertainment of the Nazis, that they may as well get some pleasure out of performing for their neighbor. But Steve couldn't help his nerves. He had that itch on his skin, the one that said duck, and he'd learned to trust it over the years.

Steve had just finished his morning meeting and had a few hours before Charlotte's train was due to arrive. There were any number of tasks he had to perform that could fill the time meantime… but Steve followed his instincts and found himself making a detour to visit an old friend.

The small alpine town of Siegsdorf was about an hours drive from Salzburg.  He took the same old familiar route he’d taken so many times during the early days – just after the Great War had ended. It was driving through these mountains that had made him so certain he wanted to build his home in the country in the first place.

General Phillips had retired here to the small understated lodge he’d inherited from his brother who had passed in a mining accident many years ago.

He’d been in charge of the mountain men during the war, and he was not one of those pencil pushing Generals who never left their desk and handled the men like they were just dots on a map. He was a good man and a good leader.

Steve still remembered back to his first day of training camp. How he’d had tried to make himself blend in with the others, but Phillips had taken one look at him and known he was too young to be there.

He'd pulled Steve aside before he could even complete a full day of training and tried to send him home.

_“Go back to your mother Rogers. I need men. Not some half pint too skinny to withstand a stiff breeze.”_

Phillips had been gruff. Impatient even. But under the growl, Steve had seen the compassion that made it impossible for the man to look the other way when all the others had.

Steve was far from the only boy to lie about his age in order to serve, or to give an impassioned speech for why they should stay. Bucky had lied just as much as Steve had and nobody even questioned him. But then again Bucky had been bigger, and older.

Steve had never been able to figure out why Phillips had changed his mind. The General had listened to his impassioned plea that day in the tent - about wanting to serve his country even though he'd never really been allowed to feel a part of it, and about needing to help others -  and he hadn't sent Steve home. 

He'd warned him plenty however, about how he likely wouldn't even make it past training camp and how the other men would wipe the floor with him.

_“I’m not gonna clean you up. I’m not your mama, Son.”_

 Steve chuckled at the old memory. Phillips always said that, and he almost always didn't keep his word.  No mistaking, he left Steve to defend himself and fight for his right to be there same as anyone else, but it wasn’t coincidence that Steve’s unit was usually better stocked on food and bandages either.

Yes, he was a good man Philips. The best Steve had ever served under. He’d stuck his neck out for Steve time and time again, and Steve had always returned the favor on the battlefield.

Phillips never considered them even, because Steve had saved his life the day he’d rescued his unit and held back the advance of the enemy. The same day he’d become known as the lion of Austria. Philips liked to grumble that he’d be a hundred and ten, still waiting for the opportunity to save Steve’s life so he could go out with a clean slate.

Steve switched off the engine of the car just as the front door of the house opened, the General stepping out onto the front step without a jacket despite the snow, a pipe clenched between his lips. He watched silently as Steve stepped from his automobile and closed the door behind him. Feet crunching quietly in the freshly fallen snow.

“Sir.” Steve greeted him, not advancing out of respect. They were comrades, but Philips was a friend first. Phillips had fought his battles and served his time. Steve would never presume to place him in any more danger than he volunteered for.

“Horrible morning for a drive.” Philips replied, his breath pluming out in front of him. “A body could freeze out here.”

Steve shrugged, tilting his mouth in a smirk.

“Been colder Sir.”

Philips barked a dry laugh, the wrinkles deepening on his face.  He turned to amble his way back inside, but turned his head to call over his shoulder, “Get your skinny ass in here Rogers. You’re letting all my heat out.”

 

~*~

 

“You’re late.” Charlotte commented when Steve had closed the door behind himself, reaching to turn the key in the ignition. He winced, even though her tone was only mildly disapproving.

“I went to see Carl.”

“How is the General?” she asked with genuine concern and Steve smiled, taking his eyes briefly off the road to meet her gaze.

“He’s fine. I’m sure he’s going to outlive us all.”

Charlotte looked down. Though she chuckled softly, her gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“I do worry you might be right.”

Steve’s gut clenched.

“How is your aunt?” he asked. The aging woman had come from abroad to mind Charlotte’s home after she’d been forced to leave on such short notice. Steve suspected the greater reason for it was to try and convince her niece to make the journey to England. Charlotte was a single woman, alone, with most of her remaining family scattered abroad. Her ties to the rest of her kin in Vienna were pleasant but impersonal. Her early decision not to shun Peggy for the disadvantageous match she’d made, and Charlotte’s own political activism with the suffragettes made sure that most of her remaining relations kept a polite distance. She said she preferred it that way, but still Steve thought it must get lonely.

 “On her way back to England. I’m grateful she came all this way, but my place is here with you and the children.” Charlotte answered.

“You told her about the engagement?” Steve didn’t know why the thought filled him with such discomfort.

“I had to give her a good enough reason to stay, didn’t I?” Charlotte replied, gazing out the window but eyes not really focusing on anything present. “She doesn’t approve, you know.”

Steve tensed and Charlotte turned her head from the window as if sensing it and offered him a slightly amused half smile.

“Oh, it’s not your character.” Charlotte waved her hand as if to wave away his concern. “But your grief was so heavy, after poor Margit left us… She worries, that you will never love me as you loved her. Of course, I told her that was ridiculous. That neither one of us was silly enough to think that our union was based on love, or that it needs to be.”

“What did she say to that?” Steve wondered, because hearing Charlotte say it like that, all prim and cool, it just made the whole thing sound so cold blooded.

“She told me I sounded very English, and that I would fit right in at home.” Charlotte chuckled sadly. “In a way, I’m glad for all the upset. She’s so stubborn I don’t know that I could have held up against her much longer.”

Steve laid his hand over hers. She wouldn’t say it, but he suspected that deep down she was torn over whether she’d made the right choice, throwing her lot in with him. The women in Charlotte’s family had a reputation for strong wills. May Parker notwithstanding.

“She couldn’t possibly have lingered, what with everything going on, but she’s heartbroken. You must know she didn’t just come for me.” Charlotte raised her eyes, their soft blue holding his. “She had hoped to see the children.”

Steve had met Peggy’s aunt May only once. She’d managed to make the trip after Péter was born, adamant that she be there for her niece when she knew Peggy’s mother would not be. But then again, May had understood Peggy better than her mother ever had, since she herself had traded the life of an affluent young woman for a love match with a poor Englishman.

The woman had written Peggy often over the years, always eager to know how she was getting on and to hear about Péter and the rest as they came along. She’d written to Steve as well, after Peggy fell ill… but there was a depression on then, and no money to make a voyage. And after Peggy had died, Steve had found it too difficult to even look his own children in the eye, let alone pen letters to a woman he hardly knew.

That guilt, and the fact that May and her husband had neither the space nor the means to care for seven children were big reasons Steve had never considered sending the children to her.

Charlotte reached inside her clutch and pulled out a small envelope with delicate spidery writing on the front.  Her mouth quirked upward in a little smile as she tucked it in his lap.

“She insisted I give this to you, and buy you a decent pen. Since it seems you’ve had trouble finding one the last three years.”

 “I’m sure I’m in for it.” Steve winced and Charlotte chuckled, patting his arm.

“I’m sure you are.”

~*~

The children had already finished dinner by the time that Steve and Charlotte made it back to the villa. The pair found them all in the sitting room with Bucky, the television playing a news reel on low while the children played or read quietly around him.

All except Péter, Steve immediately noticed. He was old enough to keep his own hours but Steve did not like the thought of him making his way home after dark right now. The snow had finally let up, but it was bitterly cold out now that the sun had gone down.

“Poland’s still got the Jews holed up in internment camps – won’t let them leave the border towns.” Bucky announced, lifting his eyes up from the news cast as they walked in, eyes locking with Steve. “They’re starving, and the Germans are shooting anyone desperate enough try and escape back this way. The Brits are down there, trying to feed the poor bastards. Though to hear the Reich tell it, they’re all actors.”

“I can’t even imagine what they must be going through. I’m only glad word got to British parliament. There’s been so many conflicting reports, I was worried no one would help.” Charlotte murmured, her eyes locked on the news reel as she claimed the open seat on Bucky’s left side, she did not even bother to scold him for his language in front of the children.

He and Bucky shared a look, thinking the same thing. It had surprised them both, how quickly British parliament had rallied to lend aid to the refugees and get people on the ground in Poland. Almost unheard of. Monty and Hill did everything they could to work with the intelligence Steve and his team provided for them, but bureaucracy often tied their hands. It was frustrating when everything in Steve’s body screamed that they should be doing more to help.

“Is Péter home yet?” Steve turned to Natacha who was sitting on Bucky’s other side, pretending to still be reading a book. She closed it gently, lowering it slowly in a way that made him think she was bracing herself.

Steve’s heart began to sink into his stomach, a very bad feeling beginning to crawl over his skin.  Natacha was too still. Too scared. Something was wrong.

“Natacha!” Steve snapped, demanding an answer and she flinched. Charlotte jumped, shocked at his loud bark and Ian felt the eyes of the other children all turning to them, the tension palpable in the room.

“Where is he?” Steve asked, never taking his eyes off his daughter.

“Jesus, Steve, he’s with Harry. Calm down.” Bucky ordered him, placing a hand on Natacha’s arm as she began to shrink beneath Steve’s stare. He was giving Steve a look like he’d lost his mind. “Péter’s old enough to take care of himself. Why are you shouting at her?”

“He’s not.” Natacha admitted quietly, her voice wavering. She bunched her skirt up between her fists as everybody’s focus shifted to her in bafflement. She still sounded subdued, like she’d gotten walked out onto the ice and knew the ground was about to give out under her, but she straightened her spine and pulled her head up anyway.

“He’s not with Harry. He’s with the Klein boys.”

Steve’s eyes flew up toward the ceiling even as Bucky was asking her, face clouded with confusion, “So he _is_ home then?”

No. No he wasn’t. Steve knew it in his gut. He’d known it all day he realized. Péter was with the Klein boys, who no one had seen all day besides Natacha. Because they’d fallen ill. Because Natacha knew he was busy (too busy to check in right away) and Virginia couldn’t afford to risk the maids when they were so short staffed. They’d gone. The way Steve had suspected they would eventually. The way he would have himself were he in their shoes. They were gone and Péter was with them.

“No.” Natacha admitted with a slight shake of her head even though Steve didn’t need her to. “They left to find their family. I only said they were sick to give them time.”

Her eyes met his and Steve saw that there were unshed tears in them.

“I’m sorry.” She said, as if that was good enough. As if that would save her brother from a bullet if he got caught sneaking around the border in an active conflict zone.

“You should be.” Steve had never wanted to shake someone so badly, but he shut out the rage and the fear – the whole storm of emotions – shut out everything but how to get Péter back.  He turned away sharply, striding from the room as he pulled the whistle from his pocket and whistled sharply for Virginia.

“Stark!”  he hollered, dropped the whistle, his feet turning towards the workshop almost ahead of his thoughts.

“Stark!” he called again, when he’d reach the closed door. He paused only to confirm the muffled sound of an engines roar behind it, before he hammered his fist against the metal, calling, “Tony!”

He was considering kicking the damned thing down when the noise inside abruptly cut and a moment later Tony swung the door open, his mouth set in an irritated scowl and his tone snapping with impatience as he glowered, “What! Stefen I’-”

“Péter’s gone!” Steve rode over his objection, balling his fists as he took a looming step toward the smaller man. “He’s been gone all day!”

Tony didn’t shrink back but Steve could see his thoughts moving behind his mind, that quicksilver brilliant mind of his that was always going and _going._ Always so concerned about the future. Always dismissing the importance of the here and the now.

“Yes, he’s with the Osbornes. I did _ask_ his whereabouts Stefen, I’m not a dullard. Didn’t Natacha tell you?”

“She lied Tony! He and the Klein boys left for Poland hours ago!” Steve barked, his chest aching around the words. Tony’s face went white, horror creeping over his expression.

“How could you not notice!”

Even as he spat the words Steve’s eyes narrowed on the mostly completed structure peeking out over Tony’s shoulder. In another moment, Steve might have been impressed at its size and polish but as it was, he wanted to take a hammer to the whole thing and smash it to pieces. There. There was the reason Tony hadn’t noticed Natacha was acting strange. The damn boat and everything it signified was the reason Tony was too preoccupied to check in on Cameron and his brother and discover the truth.

“You’re so damn preoccupied in here!” he accused, jabbing with one finger. “Meanwhile my son is –”

“Doing exactly what you taught him to do.” Tony interrupted with a growl, slapping Steve’s hand away from his chest. “He’s your son! Trying to prove he’s like _you_!”

It hurt, more than he would have ever imagined, to hear the truth said like that. To know that his son had put his life in danger and it was because he didn’t think his father was proud of him. The words slashed like a knife, deflating the air from his chest and leaving him with an alarming sensation of falling. He gnashed his teeth together, struggling for balance, his knuckles white from the pressure of fisting them. The urge to take a swing was so strong – beat those words back behind his teeth – but it wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t change the truth.

God. The thought of striking Tony’s flesh that way, feeling it give beneath his hands flipped his stomach. He could be sick. _He was sick._ He hadn’t come looking for Tony to start a fight. _Or had he_? He needed help. Tony’s help. He needed to breathe. If he could just reach Tony, take his hand- but Tony’s hands were curled into fists too, anger pouring off of him so thick Steve could taste it on his tongue, feel it sparking between them like a stick of dynamite. He was so angry it felt volcanic. And still, it wasn’t anything compared to the fear. He was so terribly afraid, and he knew it would cripple him if he allowed himself to feel any of it. Anger was safer. Anger could keep him moving.

“Maybe if you weren’t so hell bent on proving the same, this wouldn’t have happened!”

Tony blanched again as the accusing words landed between them. He couldn’t hide that, not with how close their faces were. Kissing distance, some hysterical little voice in his head kept saying. Or biting. Tony’s golden eyes narrowed, the glitter of rage burning brightly back at him as he found fuel in his own anger. He looked like he’d bite Steve if he even tried it. Strangely that realization just made the urge stronger.

_What the hell is wrong with you?_

Tony may have asked it, or maybe Steve just asked himself. Maybe Tony was in the middle of cursing his name, Steve didn’t know. He saw his mouth moving but he couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. That pressure inside kept swelling. The dark tangled web of emotion growing larger and larger within his chest, constricting his lungs and making it harder and harder to breathe.

No time. No air. No…

_Tony please._

The room tilted. Steve gasped, trying to force air back into his chest. Tony’s face seemed to be floating away, as if he were floating off on a stream. But that couldn’t be right. There wasn’t any water. If Steve could just focus, swim to the surface and take a breath, he could do what he had to do to find Péter. Tony could help. He had to make Tony understand –

“Stefen! Breathe. Look at me!” Tony’s voice sliced through the fog, sharp and hot.

Steve breathed in deep, the rush of air flowing into his lungs almost too much as he came back to his surroundings.

He was back in the hall, most of his weight slumped against Tony, the wall bracing them both. Even still, Tony was trembling under his weight. Steve could feel it.  There were other hands on him besides Tony he realized. Bucky was behind him (always behind him) and he was helping shift Steve’s weight off of Tony’s smaller frame. How had they gotten out here?

“You were rambling about finding Péter and then you just started tipping like a damn tree,” Bucky answered him and Steve frowned. He must be speaking and not know it. He moved his tongue in his mouth and it felt sluggish.

“Shhh. Don’t worry about that right now. Just breathe.” Tony hushed him, hands holding him firmly. It wasn’t Tony shaking he realized. It was him.

~*~

Steve didn’t remember Bucky and Tony walking him to his room, or putting him to bed. But the next time he woke he was there, a warm wash cloth gently soothing the tension in his brow to combat headache.  He thought for a moment that it was Tony, before the soft scent of perfume trickled his nose.

Charlotte.

She noticed he was awake after a moment and paused to smile down at him, though it was a small little thing and full of worry. Knowing he was the cause of that worry only made him feel lower. What had he done? What sort of man was he, to hurt the people he loved like this? _To lose his son like this_?

They had to find Péter.

Steve shot up in the bed, calling for Bucky but Charlotte stopped him, pushing him to lay down again.

“He’s gone Stefen. To look for Péter.” She said when he continued to struggle and Steve froze. Bucky had started the search without him? Well good, he decided a moment later. They’d already lost so many hours, he was glad Bucky hadn’t wasted more because Steve had lost control of himself.

“Stefen please.” Charlotte implored, drawing his attention to the hand she had on her chest and then to her softly pleading gaze. “This is not your fault. And I know how much you want to be out there, searching for him but you know you can’t be.”

“The hell I can’t!” He didn’t give a damn about the tour or any of the rest of it. He was going to find his son. But Charlotte’s grip on him was firm, unwavering in her confidence to hold him despite her smaller size.

“You’d have to desert your post and they can’t get word of what he is doing. Think what will happen! You won’t put him at more risk Stefen, I know you won’t.” she said and Steve snarled in frustration before the energy just seemed to leave him in a giant rush. She was right. Damn it but she was right.

“You have to tell people he went back to school as planned. And then you have to trust James to find him.”

She was right. He kept telling himself she was, but it wouldn’t stick. It did nothing to calm the alarm ringing in his head or the ferocious urge to get up, go. Find the danger. _Move move move_.

But she was right. Steve _was_ the danger. He couldn’t go looking for Péter without putting a target on his back.

He fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes, breathing in sharply.

“I’m sure he’ll be alright Stefen. He’s got the right papers for travel and he’s clever, like you.” Charlotte continued to sooth him, her gentle hands returning to his brow. Steve grit his teeth.

She was wrong. Péter was clever alright, but not like him. He was clever like _Tony_ , picking up on maths and sciences that Steve couldn’t even pronounce. Cheeky and resourceful like his mother. Stubborn and brave like - _like you!_ Tony’s words from early blasted through his swirling thoughts. Your son. Trying to prove he’s like you.

Because Steve had tried to teach him to stand up for others and not to back down even when the odds were stacked against you. Because the chances of the Klein boys making it into Poland were better with him than without him, and that was enough reason for a good man to try.

He’d tried to raise a good man hadn’t he? Would he take any of it back now? Even if it meant Péter would always be safe at home with never a thought of putting himself in danger, would he really want him to be less than what Steve himself had always tried to be?

He knew the answer even though it sat heavy in his chest, at war with every instinct he possessed as a father.

But besides sending word down the network, there was nothing he could do. It was well and truly out of his hands. Steve balled up the comforter between his fists and forced himself to keep his breathes even.

Bucky would find him.  That was all there was to it. Nothing else was acceptable.

 

~*~*~*~

**Jewish terrorist shoots German diplomat in Paris!**

_Salzburg Herald November 7 th_

_Earlier this morning Ernst Vom Rath, a diplomat at the German embassy in Paris, was mercilessly shot by the Jew: Herschel Grynzspan. Vom Rath, was rushed to Alma Women’s Hospital after the shooting, suffering critical injuries. Emergency surgery is underway and his condition remains critical._

_Vom Rath has served his country with distinction abroad, fostering good will between the Reich and her allies while staunchly defending her people from the coordinated and relentless attacks of those Jews, who conspire internationally to defame and defile her.  His Excellency the Führer has responded to this tragedy with vigor, swiftly sending his personal physicians in a fight to save a life that hangs in the balance. All of Germany grieves with her father at the plight of his fallen son._

_This we know: this attack against us will not go unanswered._

~*~*~*~

_November 9 th_

The coffee house was understaffed. It didn't take a genius to see the way the staff scrambled to accommodate the size of crowd. The clusters of university students who had apparently made the café their headquarters for the morning instead of attending class were nothing compared to how busy the place could get in the height of summer, but the neighborhood had suffered heavy losses after the Nuremburg laws went into effect and the few waiters left on staff were struggling to keep up. Steve took another glance out of the window, eyes flickering over the dreary street. The buildings all looked gray and washed out. Winter's slow approach draining all the color from the city. Or maybe it was in the air, the residue of tragedies running through all their veins.

The whole city seemed to be waiting for news on whether the diplomat Vom Rath would live or die. Her young people were out, jobs and classrooms abandoned in favor of collecting around civilian radios and smoking cigarettes between clenched teeth. Waiting and growing all the more restless the more hours slipped by without word.

_We’ve been too nice is what it is! You can’t be nice to a Jew._

_It’s time somebody did something don’t you think?_

_We’re just gonna let them get away with it?_

Steve reached for his knife.

“Most of leopoldstadt is gone. Deported,” he murmured, unsure why he said it.

Across from him, Charlotte sipped her tea. The china clinked, scraping against the silver, grating on Steve's nerves. She’d been quieter than usual, and near silent since their soup had been delivered. In her defense, Steve wasn’t making himself good company and it was not easy carrying a conversation entirely by yourself.

“I wasn't aware you’d been to leopoldstadt recently. James hadn’t mentioned it.” she said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “It’ll all be reorganized and redone now I suppose.”

His jaw ticked. Gone. Wiped over like a stain on cloth. Leopoldstadt had been… _was_ the place of his making. Of course, the Wehrmacht said it was in the hills and mountains where the ‘’Lion of Austria’ had been made but no, that was where he’d become this. This shell. Whatever they wanted him to be. Fabricated out of myth and unrecognizable. That had been the making of Major Rogers.

No more. The thought came sudden and strong. No more. He could still hear the strains of Bucky’s violin if he concentrated hard enough, feel the parchment he used to sketch on scrape under his fingertips, smell the coffee and sweet scent of baked bread on the air.

All of it gone. Empty shells left behind.

“Stefen,” Charlotte's voice was laced with alarm and Steve reflexively flinched, gazing down at his palm to find the source of the unexpected sting. He was bleeding, but only a little. The knife had slipped and cut into his flesh. Frowning Steve pressed a napkin over the wound, watching as red bloomed onto the white.

“I don’t like this,” he ground out. Charlotte let out a breath and loaded her spoon again as calm as ever.

“There are only so many battles we can win, Stefen. You know that.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I-we shouldn't fight each one.” He threw the napkin down on the table. “I’ll be damned if I make it easy for them.”     

She regarded him from across the table, her expression tight before sighing. “I’d hardly call any of this easy, Stefen.” Charlotte had long ago given up trying to coral him. Instead she weathered it (weathered him) as if he were a storm that she simple had to make it through, and then all would be right as rain. Shadows played across her face in the low electric lighting, casting circles that Steve knew better than to think were under her eyes. For one unguarded moment she allowed herself to look tired, shoulders slumped heavy and face lax with weariness.

“After all this is done, we should vacation to the Swiss villa.” She reached across the table and to his hand folding her delicate fingers with his. He grasped back, careful not to hold on to tight. “I feel like I never see you Stefen, and the children would love the countryside. It’ll be good for us. Once the Reich are done with us.”

“Charlotte.” How to tell her the Reich would never be done with him. Nor he with it. Not until one of them was destroyed. He squeezed her hand and untangled their fingers. She sat back in her chair, smile pleasantly fixed, the moment of vulnerability passing like a puff of smoke.

“Certainly, Herr Stark will like it.”

“Why do you say that?” Steve frowned. Tony was fond of the countryside like Steve was fond of public speaking. A necessary evil.

Charlotte arched a delicate eyebrow.

“I just assumed that a monk would like the countryside. Simple people and all that, with a dedication to the faith. But I suppose you’re right. A man who runs to war might not be your typical monk.” She finished, something slightly bitter in her voice. She slipped her pale fingers around the neck of her glass.

“Both of you are alike in that way. Difficult to discern.”

“What do you- Herr Stark wasn’t a part of the war.”  Stefen refuted, but that was lie. Everyone had been a part of the war. “He didn’t fight,” Steve amended.

Charlotte frowned, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.

 “Oh? How did you meet him then?” She asked innocently, attention on her lunch.

Steve frowned, stomach fighting with nerves as it always did when Tony was brought out to be examined. “I told you, he was a layman at St. Péter’s.” He said with what he hoped was nonchalance. It didn't seem to appease her, but Charlotte had always been shrewd.  

“You act as thick as thieves.” She laughed, the sound ringing like bells though it was tight and higher then it usually was. “I thought for sure you must have met during the war. Now I’m devilishly curious to know the story behind your meeting. I don’t know any man who would raise a dozen children that weren’t his own. Most would be insulted-”

“I think Tony’s happy enough with the way things are.” Steve bit out, the lie tasting sour on his tongue. “And I have seven children. Not a dozen.”

It was small but Steve didn’t miss the flicker of hurt in Charlotte's gaze. She took a sip of her wine, far longer than she needed to. She sat it down quietly and tucked neatly into her soup, the silence weighing heavy at the table.

Clearly there was something weighing on her mind. Why was she so curious about his relationship with Tony? Steve thought, apprehension like an itch on his skin. What did she mean to get at by opening this line of question?

“Charlotte,” He began but she cut him off.

“Have you thought any on getting closer to that dozen? You’re not far off, darling, and not nearly as old as you like to play. Still a young man, still a young father by any stretch of the imagination.”

Children he realized, the last puzzle piece clicking into place. Irritation bubbled inside his chest. Could they not be left well enough alone?

It wasn’t going to happen, he thought adamantly, even as he remembered all the ways in which the Reich was pushing the men to have more children. It didn’t matter. They couldn’t force him and Charlotte to, to _breed_ , like a pair of horses for the Reich.

But why not? A cold voice sneered in the back of his mind. Wasn’t that what they were intending for his daughters? Wasn’t Tacha next on the damn auction block?

He would never. He couldn’t do that to Charlotte, was abhorred by the very idea of it. The feeling of sickness churning in his gut was shadowed by the image of Tony in his mind. God, Stefen would lose him, he was sure of it, and he wouldn’t blame Tony for getting as far away from all this, from _him_ , as he could. And even if by some miracle Tony didn’t make a break for the hills, what sort of life would he be forced to live? Raising Steve’s children by a woman he spited whenever he fell into her husband’s bed.

Disgust pooled in his stomach and he clenched fitfully at the napkin in his cut hand. Tony didn’t deserve that and Steve would never offer it to him.

But Charlotte was looking at him with warm eyes, fondness that wasn’t cemented in any one reality but dreaming, seeing all the possibilities real or imagined.

He cleared his throat, looked down at his hand, snatched his courage and met her eyes. “Seven children are a lot to handle already.”

She nodded, clear blue eyes fixed on him, as if she’d expected the response. He couldn’t read her expression as she returned to her food.

“We’ll have a staff to help. We’d hardly be marooned with them. Would one or two more for them to look after be such an inconvenience?” 

Wouldn’t it? Steve thought bitterly. Péter was gone. He didn’t even know where his son was right now, what right did he have to think about having _more_ babies?!

“I don’t want more. That’s the end-”

“It’s just I worry.” She cut him off, eyes flicking up to him, razor sharp. “There are certain things people expect, and those who do not live up to public expectation can find themselves dangerously scrutinized. I wish it wasn’t that way. But we must take the world as it is.”

Stefen swallowed, her words sinking in. She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. The Reich expected good German’s to multiply as quickly as possible. Reluctance on his part could bring censure. Greater scrutiny.

“I’m not saying now of course but…” her gaze softened and she dabbed at her mouth, pale lipstick bleeding softly onto the napkin. “Soon?”

No. Steve thought. Not at the order of the Reich and not at Tony’s expense. _Never_.

“It would keep my mother at bay.” Her laugh was strained with little joy behind it. Her eyes skidding past him to someplace over his shoulder. “She’s so adamant to know when we’ll have children of our own, not that I think she thinks less of your children.“

A weak lie. Charlotte’s mother felt much the same way her sister had felt about Steve dirtying their family line. It was only the various awards and promotions that helped her swallow the bitter pill.

“Charlotte.” He leaned forwards, clasping her hand again. She clutched at it, fingers spasming against his palm, her grip strong.

“Did someone say something to you?” He asked gently. “We don’t need to- seven’s enough, yeah? I’m not going to let them bully us into this.”

Her hand stilled in his but she didn't let go. Her shoulders rose and fell with deliberately calm breaths, then she slowly pulled away.

“No. Nothing like that. We don’t need to discuss this now. There’s plenty of time to think it over.” She chirped, as if everything were happy and gay between them and they’d merely had a disagreement over whether or not the weather would improve.

Steve sat back and gritted his teeth, thinking with a small tinge of guilt that he was happy he had a meeting with the Mayor that prevented them from lingering much longer over their lunch.

 

_~*~*~*~_

_Later that afternoon_

“Tony! How come Ian gets to sing a solo at the Christmas Pageant?” Artur whined from the back seat of the car. They were loading up to make their way into the city to practice with Nigel Frank for their recital. The mood in the schoolroom that morning had been dark and glum, the way that it had been every day since discovering that Péter and the Klein brothers had run away in the night. Artur and the two youngest didn’t quite understand what was so bad about Péter having gone to Poland, only that he’d left without telling anybody when he was supposed to go back to school and it had upset their father.

Steve had barely spoken to anyone in days. First there had been the expulsion of the Polish Jews, then Péter’s disappearance, and now the country was in an uproar once again, since a Jewish teenager had shot a German diplomat over in Paris. Those with enough charity whispered rumors that it was because his parents had been among the Jews ejected from the country, now suffering in the border camps. Most echoed the sentiments shared in the broadcasts over civilian radio and in the papers, that the shooting had been an organized attack by an international Jewish threat.

A state of fear blanketed everything. It was inevitable that people were beginning to talk about pushing back. It was human nature after all to cast one’s eyes about, looking for weapons, when they were afraid. 

A match had been struck and all of Salzburg was holding its breath again, to see if this time the flame would catch.

Stefen was gone for long hours each day, and when he was home he was locked within his study – the militant Captain that Tony had met at the start of summer had returned in full force. That morning he’d gone to some gathering with the Baroness and had left no word when he’d be back.

Tony wanted badly to confront Stefen. Especially about what he’d said to Natacha the night they’d discovered her deception over Péter’s leaving. The poor girl had grown even more withdrawn than usual, guilt and her father’s disappointment weighing heavily on her.

Tony had a million things stored up that he could say to Captain Rogers, but he’d been so angry after their fight that he found himself avoiding Stefen; just to prevent having to yell at him if they happened to make eye contact.

How dare he say this was Tony’s fault? As if it were _his_ responsibility to anticipate Péter’s every decision. Péter was Stefen’s child, not Tony’s, and maybe if Stefen wasn’t so god damn self-righteous and focused on being a hero, he’d have noticed far sooner that something wasn’t right. After all, what the hell had _he_ been doing all day? And why was his work more important than what Tony was doing?! For Stefen, no less!

What the hell was that little jab about Tony trying to prove he could be like him?! It burned. It burned a hole right through the center of him because – _how dare he_ – and because deep down, he knew there was truth. 

Tony had encouraged Péter by making that broadcast with him. And if he hadn’t been so wrapped up with the boat he might have looked further into Natacha’s story. Péter might be safe on his way back to school right now, if it weren’t for Tony’s need to prove he wasn’t as useless as Hughard and everyone else had always thought.

Maybe if he hadn’t been so damn selfish -

“Tony!” Artur’s insistent whine jarred him out of his thoughts. He jumped, turning to look in the back seat, where five of his six charges were crammed and eyeing him curiously.

“Are you going to start the car?” Ian asked, breaking the silence. Oh. Right. He glanced to the passenger’s side where Natacha sat, staring out her window at nothing, seemingly oblivious to Tony’s mood or his momentary lapse in focus.

He sighed.

Maybe it was a good thing they had practice today, he thought. The children needed to get out of the house and out from under their worries. Music was a good distraction for them all.

 

~*~*~*~

_That Night_

Steve blinked rustling the papers on the desk, his dry eyes weary of pouring over documents. He was currently examining the new plans for police dispersion for the city, a special request handed down from the Mayor who often relied on Steve’s proven gift for strategy and sound judgment.  Over by the window Assistant Chief Olasz turned toward him, his expression pinched but expectant. He was clearly as eager as Steve to wrap up their business for the night and go home. Maybe if they finished soon, Steve could surprise Tony and the children at the Music Hall. It was unfair to keep avoiding them. It wasn’t their fault he’d failed to protect their brother.

“It’s ambitious,” Steve summarized, straightening up as he drummed his fingers against the top of the desk. “I can see why Hasenkamp is worried. There isn’t enough man power for this.” 

Officer Olasz tilted his head toward the papers, his mouth twisting in an irritated sneer.

“We’ve just heard from above that the HJ-Patrol has been promoted to SS function. I am sure many more boys will volunteer once the announcement is made.” At Steve’s frown Olasz huffed a short sigh and quickly finished, “It’s out of my hands Rogers. The Mayor has made his demands. He thinks it’ll stop the unrest in the streets. Make everyone feel secure.” 

Olasz finished a sharp laugh and turned back to the window. “Most foolish thing I’ve heard of yet.”

“Yes but to arm children-” Steve began but Olasz cut him off, with a wave of his hand, disgust playing across his face. 

“They won’t be in any real danger Rogers. The Mayor arms himself against shadows. He’s a coward.”

Steve cocked his head at the files, frowning down at the colorful lines drawn upon the large map of the city and the surrounding county. It was more than ambitious, it was preposterous. Triple the amount of patrols, double the size of the intelligence office, and all of it was to be achieved by granting school boys the same function as SS officers. It was mad. But Steve doubted he’d be able to dissuade the Mayor from this plan. Olasz wasn’t wrong. Many boys were sure to join the Patrol once they heard what status it would give them.

He sighed, the headache he’d been fighting since his meal with Charlotte pounding just behind his eyes. He hoped to god Hasenkamp arrived soon so they could be finished here. For the first time Steve wished all they’d wanted from him was to smile and kiss babies. 

“What are they so afraid of?” Steve wondered, almost to himself. 

Olasz glanced back at him and then gestured back to the window. “Have a look outside Major.” 

Brow furrowed, Steve stepped up next to him to look out onto the street below them. Ants. The improbable thought popped into his head. Artur would have said they looked just like ants. There had been people loitering around outside of city hall when Steve had arrived but there were dozens of them now, forming a thickening mass of bodies blocking the steps. Several young men stood on the steps with their backs to the building and were speaking to the crowd. They were HJ Steve noted, and among the crowd they’d managed to rally Steve could spot at least fifty more. Even from their distance Steve could hear the faint sound of their raised voices. 

“They are calling the ambassador who was shot a hero and patriot. They are asking how long the people should suffer the menace of the Jews. They wonder if there are no brave German’s left, who will avenge him.” Olasz commented dryly, as if he did not see what was happening below them or the horrible potential.

“You need to break them up.” Steve stared at the man hard, one eye on the increasingly agitated crowd with fear tightening in his gut. “Before they become a mob.”

“The people have a right to vent their frustrations.”

Steve frowned at him, wondering at his strange nonchalance. The man was not a fool and too good a policeman not to know how crazy it was to simply wait for the situation to escalate. 

Steve stepped forward, opening his mouth to demand to know what was going on but he was cut off by the door swinging open announcing that the Mayor had finally arrived. Hasenkamp strode in briskly clutching at a brief case, his puffy brow glistening with sweat despite the cold outside. 

His beedy gaze flitted around the room like a fly before he homed in on Steve. He ran a hand through his slightly unkept hair and said hurriedly, “There you are Major. Hurry, we’ve not a moment to lose.”

Apprehension building, Steve folded his hands behind his back falling into parade, leveling Hasenkamp with a stare. “What more can I help you with Herr Mayor?”

Hasenkamp dabbed his sweaty brow with a crumpled handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and took a shaky breath. “Let me be frank with you, Major, Assistant Chief. The news has just broken that Vom Roth succumbed to his injuries. People are incensed. Rightfully so, but fights have broken out –”

“Where?” Olasz interjected as Steve’s heart sank. The ambassador’s death would do nothing to ease the tension in the public. Hasenkamp let out a frustrated sigh.

“Vienna, Graz, Berlin, everywhere! Does it matter at this point? I thought if I could keep Salzburg- but I have orders….” He trailed off, muttering furiously under his breath and making less and less sense, before his head snapped up once more, hope burning in his eyes as he begged. “You could speak to them. People listen-” 

But Steve had already turned to the window again, the Mayors word’s playing like a record track over and over again in his mind. The ambassador was dead. Fighting was breaking out. Vienna. Graz. Berlin. 

Down in the street the crowed had grown in size to become a massive breathing thing, the shouting so loud he could almost discern every breath. Steve took a breath, eyes darting over the crowd. 

“This is happening in other parts of the city? He asked, his pulse beginning to elevate. Something was about to happen. It was a metallic taste on his tongue with every breath he took. A feeling on his skin, like a hand passing too close.  

“All over Salzburg” the mayor confirmed in a weak, defeated tone, and Steve cursed, unclenching his grip on the window sill. He glanced at the clock and cursed again. The children where likely still at their rehearsal. They might have wrapped up early, might even now be safely on their way home but Steve couldn’t take the chance.

“Major, what- Where are you going?” Hasenkamp called as steve brushed passed him. 

“You’re the mayor. You talk, see if they listen!’ Steve was five steps ahead of the moment, already mentally downstairs on his motorbike. He thundered down the stairs, fear creeping cold through his chest as the crowd outside suddenly broke into a furious roar and surged toward the business district. He broke out into a run. 

“Major Rogers!” he heard the Assistant Chief call out behind him.

“My family! Olasz, my family are at the Behringer Hall!” 

It was all he could manage to get out as he threw himself against the doors and pushed his way outside into the seething mob.

~~*~~

He could smell the smoke before he saw the actual blaze. Furnishings on fire, buildings set ablaze, frames warping under the heat like a giant hand had come down and squeezed them.

How…? Stefen wondered, standing, staring as the sounds and sights of violence washed over him. How could they do this to their city?

 _Burn them out!_ The streets were smeared with rubble. Merchandise, furniture, clothes, and everything in-between strewn about by the mob as they shattered windows to trash shops. Shattered windows to destroy homes and drag their occupants into the seething body of the mob. Glass was everywhere, falling like snow from above, glinting wickedly as it reflected the fire light.

_Smash them out!_

And the screaming. The screaming was a dull roar in his ears.

_No good Jew but a dead Jew!_

Everywhere he turned there were people rushing through the streets, screaming in fear and even more screaming in anger. He could hardly tell who was attacking and who was running away from the attack in the chaos.

He maneuvered his bike around a thick crowd of people who were attempting to tear down a storefront, his eyes straining over their heads for a glimpse of the Behringer Music Hall where Tony and the children were meant to be practicing with Nigel. People swarmed around him like irritated hornets, knocking into his bike, grabbing onto him as he slowed down to keep from trampling them. 

Steve took a deep breath and choked on the putrid smell of burning paint and chemicals. The smoke in the air making his eyes sting. He pushed aside the fear in exchange for red hot focus. He was hardly a block away but it was clear he’d have to leave the bike if he was going to make it through this crowd. Steve let it fall and began to elbow his way trough the crowd toward the Music Hall.

“Burn it down! Burn it to the ground!” A young man standing on a crate nearby urged the crowd. He had a thin wooden baton in his hand, and wore the uniform of Hitler’s youth. It was an absurd sight. The boy in his brown shorts standing upon his box, teeth gleaming as they reflected flames, egging on a swarm of men and women twice his age all snarling like starved animals over a carcass.

He was past the store. Next to an apartment building now. The crowd wasn’t as thick here. Most were inside. Forcing everyone out. Shoving things out the windows onto the street. Tables. Chairs. People.

There were bodies in the street, Stefen realized, spotting the motionless lumps between the legs of the runners. Men. Women. _Children_.

Steve’s stomach lurched just as a man grabbed hold of his shirt, ripping the collar. Steve was on him in a flash, spinning to shove the stranger back against with the wall, hearing his head crack against the stone. He let the man drop before he turned and took off running once more.

Had to get to the Music Hall. Nothing could get in his way.

Except- Steve skid to a halt, heart hammering in his chest - in front of him lay three figures, their bodies sprawled out haphazardly on the ground. A child half covered by the body of a man with jet black hair.

 _No_! Steve crashed to his knees as he went down, hands and knees scraping the pavement as he rushed to reach them, his heart still slamming away in his chest.

The man was dead weight as Steve moved him. The child he’d been shielding turned her head slightly to blink up at the new presence. Her face was unfamiliar and older then he’d thought on first glance.

Twelve. Maybe thirteen.

Her eyes were glassy and her stare removed. Her face was cut and her night gown was stained with blood from some injury he couldn't see. Next to the girl and the man a woman lay twitching in the throes of death, until she went still - like a discard doll. Without thought, Steve moved her crooked arm into a better position (more comfortable) and turned back to the child. The trio must have jumped from the apartments above. The man had tried to break her fall.

She needed a hospital. Steve climbed back to his feet, looking around desperately for someone or something to help, relief and desperation striking anew as he tried to wave down an automobile knocking its way down the street, blaring it’s horn in warning.

“Over here!” He called out, but the vehicle didn't even pause as it creeped by. Steve curled his lip and swore turning back to the injured child and the man fingers searching quickly over their bodies to catalog wounds.

The man was still breathing but his pulse was faint. Steve pushed aside his trench coat to reveal a night robe underneath. They all must have run from their beds. Or been dragged from them.

A family then, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe just three people in the wrong place.

This was madness. How could they do this?!

_People have a right to vent their frustrations._

Olasz words floated back to him over the screaming. They’d intended this, Steve realized with cold horror. The Reich had wanted this to happen and Olasz had been trying to warn him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden clash of broken glass, shards raining down overhead. _How was there still glass to shatter_? Steve hurled himself over the girl. When he looked back up a man, boy really, had run up and was grabbing the girls shoulder.

“Emma!” he shrieked and yes, that pitch was a terrified child.

The unknown boy shook her shoulders, face in a rictus. Steve grabbed his arm. Shouting for him to stop, the boy froze at the command eyes widening at the sight of him before he snapped his teeth, snarling like a vicious dog and took a swing at Steve.

“She’s hurt. I’m trying to help.” 

He didn’t know whether he was family or friend to the girl, only that he seemed terrified of Steve and determined to protect her. Steve backed away, torn between continuing to try and help and finding his family. 

There was another crash, followed by a surge of cheers from the mob. A wave of boys in brown shirts swinging batons, grimy faces distorted in the light, poured out from the apartment building like a plague of locusts to surround them.

Steve reached for his gun and fired once into the air directly above their heads. It was enough to make the Hitler Youth jump and scramble backward, wild eyes focusing on him. He could see them taking in his size, his uniform, trying to decide what to do.

“Leave!” Steve ordered them sharply, firing another shot to underscore the command. “I will shoot you.” Every. Last. One. The boy’s must have seen it in his eyes because they scrambled, off to seek other prey. Steve kept his gun pointed at their backs, turning only slightly to look down at the boy hovering over Emma.

“Can you carry her?”

The boy nodded, slightly dumbstruck.

“Then go. Now. Get her out of here.”  Steve waited only long enough to make sure the boy listened, melted into the night like a shadow with Emma in his arms. He hated to leave the man (her father?) but there was nothing he could do for him, not when he had to get to his own children. Steve turned and ran down the street.

He could see the Music Hall at times, rising above most of the other buildings in the square but he had no idea if Tony and the children were still there, or what condition they’d be in - Steve grabbed a passing man by his jacket, gripping him tightly as he asked if he’d heard any word about the Behringer being attacked.

The man yelped, jerking away from him as he panted in a strangled voice, “it’s been ransacked!” before he took off again.

Steve’s heart sank in his chest with dread. It was the same with two others he asked. Everyone had the same story. The Hall had been gutted. No one was left and if they were they were in no sort of shape to leave.

_No. No. Please, god no_

His arms, his legs, everything ached with desperation making it hard to stay focused, stay on the task at hand. Steve kept going. He knew if he stopped for one second he would lose it. He was sure of it and he couldn’t do that.

 _Think damn it_!

Tony was smart. He wouldn’t have stood still when the riots started. The Hall was large, lots of exits. Where would he go? What was behind the Behringer?? Steve searched his memory. There where shops just behind. A few Jewish businesses still remained. They’d have been targeted too. Tony would avoid them. There was some sort of public park… No, too open they’d be sitting ducks. Then where damn it!

His mind flittered back to the shops. Tony wouldn’t try running far with the little ones. He’d look for a place to hide. Many of the shops had apartments upstairs, attics, cellars… Steve took off like a shot.

The hall was destroyed, just as he’d feared. Windows busted and pouring out thick black smoke, devoid of any signs of life. Splintered furniture and broken instruments lay strewn about. Glass from the windows covered the ground like a bed of snow.

There was water pooling in the front hall, flowing down the steps like a flooded sink over words painted in bold letters over the stone.

JEW LOVERS

Steve picked his way through the rubble, side stepping an unmoving body face down in the water. The piping must have collapsed he thought as he sloshed his way around the building.

Where were they!?

He made his way to the back until he was facing the row of smaller buildings directly behind the hall. There was less damage back here, as only a few of the buildings were owned by Jews. It felt safer somehow to call out.

“Tony!”

Nothing. He tried again, his voice breaking, “Tacha, are you here? James!” He tried not to curse his own voice echoing back at him, endless and hallow. The crooked sign of a squat little building calling itself the Behringer administrative offices caught his eye and he strode toward it. The windows were broken here as well, and the rioters had clearly had their way with the place, but at least it wasn’t on fire. The front office was nothing but floating piles of smashed furniture (broken pipes here too) but there was a hall behind it leading towards a service kitchen.

Steve flew down the stairs toward the staff kitchens heart, sinking when he pushed the door open only to discover an empty room. It was mostly untouched here save for the ankle-deep water and ransacked cupboards. He didn’t think this was the work of the worst of the mob. The city’s poor and starving were out in full force, taking advantage of the chaos to find food for themselves and their families.

He was about to turn and leave when he caught sight of a small door in the corner. It could be the door to a panty he thought, heart kicking up in his chest, or even a cellar. His heart pounded all the harder as he approached it, breathing harshly as he took the two small steps leading down to it and reached for the knob.

The door had a lock, but the knob moved smoothly. Still the door didn’t budge when he pushed. Blocked from inside, he realized.

“Tony?!”

Steve put his weight against it, feeling for any give. The door was sturdy, it would hurt him but he could get it down and that was all he needed. He threw himself against the wood, barreling into with his shoulder. Something had come loose inside him. Each strike more frantic than the last as he threw himself at the door like someone crazed. _Open. God damn it open_!  If he couldn’t open this door, if he couldn't get inside-  The door gave way suddenly and Steve spilled inside, just barely missing a blow to his head as something swung at him. He dodged, scrabbling to the side with a gasp. The second blow came just as fast, but Steve caught it this time. It was metal piping, twisted and mean looking from where it had been torn from the wall, and on the other end of it a terrified looking man with dark hair and death in his eyes.

It was only for a second but Steve suddenly felt a rush of Deja vu. Of being on one end of a weapon and the snarled terror ridden face of an Italian on the other.

“Stefen?” Tony managed to rasp in wonder, slowly lowering the pipe just before the most precious sound he’d ever heard came from the darkness. From the back of the cellar James came running like a bat out of the dark.

“Da!” the little boy cried, barreling into him. Steve braced himself against the door frame, knees shaking as he clutched his son to him. A second later Ian was shoving himself under Steve’s arm and there were other bodies pressing close. He could hardly stomach the emotion rushing over him. Felt dizzy and disoriented as he desperately tried to count heads. One. Three. Five… The relief hit him like a train, his eyes stinging viciously when he counted six.

 “Vati!” Sara burst into tears, ugly and vicious. Steve disentangled himself from James and Ian, and now Artur who was squeezed in between Ian and James, and scooped her up, holding her tightly. He grunted as her arms wrapped around his neck, strong and desperate.

“It’s alright.” He murmured. “It’s alright.”

Only it wasn’t. And as if to underscore that point there was a clatter somewhere inside the building and Steve swung around eyes darted over the darkened kitchen.

They had to go.

His eyes met Tony’s in the dark just as Natacha’s frightened voice came from his left, asking what they were going to do. She was grabbing his sleeve and he let go of Sara’s shoulders to grasp her hand and in as calm a voice as he could manage answered, “It’s all right, I’ve got a plan. You have to trust me; do you trust me?”

Wide frightened eyes looked back at him as she nodded and he pulled her close kissing her head “Good girl.” And then glancing over his shoulder he caught Tony’s eye again from over Sara’s head. “We have to go out the back way through the apartments.” Steve could barely see him in the shadows, it was a miracle really that Tony hadn't brained him when he’d come through the door. 

He shifted Sara gently and scooped up Maria who was grasping his knees, sandwiched between her siblings. She was trembling, dirt stained tracks running down her face.

“No! Give her to me!” Steve nearly dropped Maria in surprise as Tony surged forward as if he’d just come back to life, wresting her from his arms.

“Tony, what-?” Steve managed, surprise making him stupid as he blinked at the other man who was now holding his daughter as if Steve were the devil himself and intent on grabbing her.

Even in the dark Steve could see that Tony's olive skin was bleach white, though whether that was from fear or from the oozing cuts and bruises across his face was harder to discern. He was hurt, Steve realized with new alarm. His eyes flew over the children once more – thinking of all the situations that could have led to Tony being injured – before flying back to the monk, relieved to see that other than his face he wasn’t visibly bleeding anywhere else.

Tony held Maria tight to his chest, breathing heavily. Steve recognized that look in his eyes. It was panic so strong it shocked the system. The look a soldier got sometimes, the first time he shot a man dead or saw a comrade killed. It was a look that said Tony was going nowhere short of Steve dragging him, and that wasn’t good. They had to move. Steve took a slow step toward him, trying to disentangle Artur and James along the way as he gently called the man’s name. “Tony?”

A ripple went through Tony’s glassy gaze and he looked back at Steve, quiet, eyes wide, terror rippling off him in waves. “I… I - we can’t go out there.”

Another step forward.

“Tony, we have to.” Steve kept his voice gentle. Cajoling.

“No! No, we don’t, Stefen.” Tony yelled and Steve tried not to flinch at the sound, listening hard for more sounds in the kitchen beyond.

“Tony give me Maria. We have to- “

“She can’t!” Tony’s wild eyes darted to James and then to Ian. He clutched Maria closer. Maria let loose a small wail and Steve tensed, firmer in his command and more insistent as he reached for her.

“Tony stop! Let her go.”

“We can’t, they’ll kill us!” It was the closest to pleading Steve had heard from him. Save the night in the piano room.

“No, they won’t. I won’t let them. Tony stop. Look at me!” Tony stilled beneath his hands, eyes fixing on Steve like he was the only thing solid in the room, his breathes coming in hitched gulps.

Something was wrong Steve thought even as part of him wanted to howl and laugh at the same time- because _everything_ was wrong – but no, he had to focus. Because Tony needed him, and something was wrong with _Tony_. This was not the first riot Tony had lived through. This wasn’t like him. He hadn’t reacted when Steve picked up Sara. Just Maria.

Steve saw it again, the little girl lying in the street, the man lying over her, their dark hair tangled together.

Others would assume too he realized. A mob couldn’t be counted on to reason.

Somewhere outside the hall there was a loud bang, followed by a series of blood curtailing screams.

They were so loud in his ears, that they nearly drowned out the frightened scream coming from the children.

“Hush! Quiet. Be silent!” he ordered, hating having to be harsh with them but fearing drawing attention to their location. The cellar went still and Steve listened hard for the sound of approaching footsteps.  When no came he allowed himself a fraction of relief and turned back to Tony, who was still holding a silently weeping Maria.

“Tony,” he entreated softly, the Italian rolling off his lips, calm, commanding. “You’ve got to trust me.” Steve held out the hand that wasn't supporting Sara’s weight, palm up, pleading. “I won’t let them have you. Any of you.”

Tony stared at him for a long drawn out moment. When he finally moved it felt like all the breath Steve had ever held rushed back into his lungs before it was sucked out again in a rush.

Tony grabbed his hand and held on tight. That was all Steve needed.

~*~

They sloshed through the kitchen, searching the back hallway for an exit, warry of going upstairs to the front of the building where the gunshot had come from. They found a little mudroom in the back with a single door. It took a moment for Steve to pry Sara off of him ( _shhhh, you’re all right_ ) and hand her over to Ian so he could shove at it with his shoulder. 

Damn it! It was locked, its deadbolt clicking angrily as Steve’s weight beat against it. He twisted, looking around the room and yes, there, a window. It was high up, only really meant to bring in some light and a bit of decoration to the small area. It would have to do, he thought as he snatched up a boom laying discarded in corner.

“Vati! What are you doing?” he heard one of the children cry, couldn’t quite tell which one with his back turned and his pulse loud in his ears.

“Stand back.” He instructed as he stabbed at the window viciously, the end of the broom cracking the glass in spider fragments that tinkled as they fell to the floor. That sound was going to haunt his dreams.

He put all his strength behind it and swung the broom, ducking when the glass gave way, a few of the raining shards nicking his bare skin despite raising his arm to shield himself. He righted himself quickly, gesturing for Tony and in an instant Tony was there beside him, looking up at the window with a dazed expression. Steve grabbed his shoulder and brown eyes met his.

“Are you with me?”

It took a moment but Tony nodded, and though his gaze was still slightly glazed there was steel behind it.

“I’ll lift you up first, then you can help the children through.” Steve said, turning to hoist him up. Tony was heavy but smaller than a few he’d had to carry over the years, and nothing compared to dead weight. Steve watched him scramble through the small opening, hissing as he inevitably cut himself on broken glass, until he disappeared from view into the black night. Steve could only hope there wasn’t anyone out there, that whoever had come back to the area and fired that gun was long gone. He could only breathe again when Tony's pale face reappeared in the broken window.

One after the other Steve lifted the children up into Tony's waiting arms. Ian was the last, refusing to go until he’d watched his older sister clamber through the opening.  

“You next. Don’t worry-” Steve began, but Ian narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’ll help Tony pull you up,” he decided firmly before Steve could finish reassuring him.  Steve doubted they would be able to, had known it was a possibility the moment he’d spotted the window, but he simply nodded and hoisted Ian up by the waist until he could reach the sill and Tony could get a grip on him. Ian squeezed through the opening in one fluid motion of pale limbs and disappeared from view. Tony repapered a moment later.

“Now you” he called down, just as Steve was considering the small space and what his options truly were.

“Tony I –”

“Don’t even think it!” Tony cut him off with a snap. “Take it at a run. You’ll fit.”

Steve still doubted it but Tony’s voice was sharp and tight with urgency as he slapped a hand down loudly against the sill in demand.

“You promised!” Tony shouted and Steve backed up a few steps and jolted forward, jumping for the sill as Tony reached down for him. For one horrible lurching moment he imagined that he was simply going to drag Tony back inside with him, head first, but then there were hands grabbing at his arms and back. With a strength Steve wasn’t prepared for, Tony grunted and heaved, holding onto him tight as he yanked him up.

The hard edge of the sill pressed into his chest and punched the air from Steve’s lungs, glass cutting into his clothing and the vulnerable skin beneath it as he was dragged over the sill inch by inch.  It was a tight fit and he did end up having to wrench his shoulder, but eventually he was spilling out onto the ground below.

Tony, Ian and Natacha collapsed like bowling pins around him, panting heavily, as Sara fell against him, laying her body over him like a shield and squeezing her arms around him tight. Steve struggled to catch his breath. The alley behind the building was dark, the smell of dirt and wet stone mixing with the smoke heavy in the air making his stomach roll.

He heard the sound of rioters chanting and making a ruckus somewhere close on the main street. They were shielded back here, but there was no telling for how long.

Shakily Steve got on his feet, lifting Sara up with him.

“Get up.” He urged the others. “We’ve got to move.”

As a group they hurried through the back alley’s as quickly as they could but even there they ran into others, proving they weren’t alone in the idea. There were other runners. Other hiders. Others whose faces were so full of fear they looked as if they were in rictus, the whites of their eyes flashing through the thick darkness at them. Natacha let out a squeal of shock behind him and Steve whirled, body tense and ready to drop Sara and rip apart whatever threat had made Tacha scream- but the person, the man, was already down. He lay slumped in the shadows, unconscious or dead. She’d tripped over him and now she stood there, staring at the misshapen lump at her feet.

 “Tacha.” he urged her, and she blinked slowly and closed her mouth. Steve felt a small bit of relief when she clutched James closer to her side and scurried to catch up with them. 

One, two, three- he counted their heads as they rushed past him toward the end of the ally.

Six, Tony and Maria hurried past him. Steve turned around, just one last check to make sure they weren’t being fallowed. Nothing.  Forward into the black.

Carefully they made their way toward the residential side of the city. The focus that had wrapped itself around Steve steadying his heartbeat and numbing him to anything that wasn’t keeping them moving and taking down anything (or anyone) that got in their way.

The residential side wasn’t much better, aside from the mob not being as thick here. Most of the Jews had been evicted from this area and forced to move elsewhere already, but the homes of the few who remained were under siege.  Furniture pulled out of houses dressed the sidewalks and here and there were prone bodies. Not many but enough.

The mob resembled less of a mob here and more of a festival gone slightly out of hand. There were looters everywhere, happily going through their neighbor’s possessions. Gleefully graffitiing their empty homes with slurs and happy to Ignore Steve and his family as they slunk through their midst.

There were less people here, but certainly more cars.

Steve snatched Ian’s shoulder, pulling him out of the way just in time to avoid an automobile careening around the corner. He caught a glimpse of a ghost like face behind the wheel and then the car was gone, disappearing into the black night.

Shepherding his family out of the way of the road he yelled for Tony, “Stay here!”

As he turned he felt a tug at the back of his jacket, but it was gone just as soon as he felt it like a phantom brush of fingers. Steve darted out into the street right in front of the automobile that was making its way towards them, swerving past looters.  The automobile screeched to a halt, it’s tires screaming on pavement. Steve barely managed to dodge the hood of the auto running into his stomach. He held up his hands empty, palms out.

“Stop! Stop we have children!” He shouted desperately.

The automobile longed forward, tapping Steve in the rib cage. The man behind the wheel looked terrified at the sight of him, his eyes wide as he made a frantic jabbing motion with his hand for Steve to get out of the way. But there was no chance in hell Steve was going to move.

“God damn it! They’re children!”

The man swiped at the air again, accelerating the automobile forward. This time Steve could hear the strained call from inside. “Move, get out of the way –”

And Steve could see it in his eyes, that he would rather run Steve over in the street than stop for him, he braced for the hit; but the man let out a shout of surprise as the back of his door was suddenly yanked opened, swinging violently on its hinges.

“You really ought to get better locks,” Tony exclaimed in a rush, already dropping Maria into the backseat of the car. He didn’t know how he’d done it, or how it was possible, but in that moment a breathless laugh punched out of Steve’s chest. He was next to Tony a moment later, to help him load the other children – ignoring the furious protests of the driver.

He lifted Sara by her armpits and put her in, she let out a gasp of fright as she bounced on the seat from the force of Steve’s toss, and scrambled out of the way as Maria followed at the same speed for. Next came Artur, then Tacha and James.

“It’s too small!” James cried, struggling to maneuver out of the way for Tacha’s larger body, Maria let out a wail of pain as her brother’s knee jabbed into her side.

“Maria!” Steve called, trying to reach her.

“She’s alright, I see her da!” Ian said, squeezing himself in, elbows and knees going everywhere. James was right the little car was far too small. It didn’t stop him from practically throwing Tony in by his jacket, or Tony turning - banging his elbow into the driver's shoulder as he leaned over Ian to grab Steve by the shirt - to drag him inside until Steve was laying atop him, his head and shoulders wedged in between the driver’s seat and the woman in the passenger’s seat.

“There’s no more room!” The man whose auto they’d accosted yelled, jerking the car forward and tearing off down the street before Artur had even managed to wriggle far enough to drag the door shut behind Steve. The strangers’ eyes were wide as dinner plates, the little hair he had falling into his face.

They’d made it. It took Steve’s mind a moment to really accept it. They’d all made it in the car. They were quickly leaving more and more streets behind them, headed out of the city.

Still, the drive was no picnic. He almost would’ve preferred to stay on the streets. It was confined and cramped with nine of them. And the door kept unlatching and threatening to spilling Steve out onto the road. Artur was forced to make himself as small as possible and wriggle close enough to hold it shut with a white knuckled grip. All the while they feared who would get it in their minds to have a try at the automobile.

Even though he was armed and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would kill them before they had the chance to touch his family, it was still the longest drive of his life.

 

~*~*~T~*~*~

_The shattering of shop windows, looting of stores and dwellings of Jews took place in the early hours of 10 November 1938.... In one of the Jewish sections an 18 year-old boy was hurled from a three-story window to land with both legs broken on a street littered with burning beds. The main streets of the city were a positive litter of shattered plate glass." - David Buffum, American Consul in Leipzig, November 1938._

Professor Johann Baptist Sieger’s little apartment was well furnished, with all the classic pieces of a man well into his bachelorhood. It might have been cozy were it not for the six dirty children huddled in his closet of a room, their clothes piled in the corner and the three equally dirty and weary adults strewn about the small living space.

Outside the city burned, streaks of pink and violet slashing across black velvet sky like an open wound.

The children had been checked for lasting injuries. Artur's knees had needed dee-pebbling from a hard fall. Tacha's head needed ice, James and Ian both had scrapes and cuts littered all over them but none that looked to need stitches. They were all fine, but Tony couldn’t seem to stop his hands from shaking regardless as he tended to them. Helpfully, Ian took over for Tony wiping off Maria's face and arms while she whimpered.

They were lucky. They had been so damn lucky. Lucky that Tony had been curious about the yelling outside, hadn’t tried to ignore it or drown it out by increasing the volume of the orchestra.  Lucky that he’d gone to look and that he’d correctly guessed they’d target the Music Hall. One of the few places in Salzburg where Jews could still belong.

The men had burst inside. Ordered they hand over their Jews. Nigel told them to leave and one of the men had beat him with a broken chair leg. Accused him of being a Jew lover. Everyone had panicked, trying to get out as the intruders began to tear the place apart. Tony had run with the children, shielding them as best he could with his body when two men stepped in front of them, one armed with a lead pipe.

_You. Where are you taking those children?_

He’d tried to talk their way out. Told them that these were Major Rogers Children and that he was their tutor, but the men had not listened. They heard and saw only what they wanted.

_You’re a lying Jewish pig. You and your brat._

They’d attacked. Beat at him with their weapons and torn a screaming Maria right from his arms. James and Artur had jumped on the back of the man attacking him, allowing Tony to get the upper hand. Natacha and Ian had flown at the other as soon as he’d grabbed Maria. The man had swung the pipe into Ian’s stomach screaming he was a Jew Lover. Natacha cut him with something sharp. Tony had not seen what, had not waited more than a second after the man had staggered back from the children in shock before tackling him, twisting the heavy piece of piping out of his grip and beating him with it until he didn’t move anymore.

Was he dead? Alive? Tony didn’t know. Couldn’t care.

There were so many ways it could have gone wrong. So many ways they could have died. They’d been lucky that Stefen had found them alive. Or at all.

_~*_ ~

_A few hours later_

Tony ignored the shake in his hands to reach for one of the apple slices that Professor Sieger had set out. Even in at a time like this, manners prevailed. He supposed there was a kind of comfort in that. Maybe Tony needed that right now as much as Sieger did.

Tart flavor burst over his tongue, shocking his senses momentarily before the taste turned to ash in his mouth. He kept working his jaw, grinding the fare into thick mush and swallowing by route. He hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours now. That seemed important.

Professor Sieger was pacing around the small apartment, hands clenching fitfully.

“Have you tried telephoning your-“ he started again. Tony cut him off unable to keep the weariness and irritation out of his voice.

“Not since half past one. The operators found it necessary to be at home if you can believe that. What do you think, was it the lateness of the hour or the smoke outside the window that did it?”

“That’s not-“ Professor Sieger amended, hands going in the air, flustered and visibly doing his best to hold back his own irritation. “It’s only that- I’m only thinking of the children. They should be back in their own beds. He ran a hand through his curly blond hair, so that his nervous swiping and all the soot in it nearly had it standing on end.

“It won’t be any better, Johann, making them go out in all that. We’re three floors up.” Inola Regenbogen said from her seat in the corner. The woman who had been in the car with the professor had barely moved since they’d all spilled into Sieger’s apartment, not even to help with the littlest ones. To be fair, Seiger had kept a distance as well.

Studying the woman’s face, Tony recognized her. He understood better now why the man had been so unwilling to stop, even if it meant striking Stefen right there in the road. It was one thing for a history professor with a love of music to be with seen with a musician who happened to be a Jew. It was another thing altogether to be seen by an officer rescuing her.

Sieger’s gaze flickered back over Fräulein Regenbogen. He nodded and asked her for what must have been the fourth time in the last half hour, if she was all right. Did she need anything? It was almost funny how he went back in forth between pretending not to know her and mother fussing like a worried mother.

Seiger’s eyes flickered nervously yet again to the door but he need not have worried. Stefen hadn’t thought about anything but the children. Was uninterested with anything outside of them. Even moving to phone charlotte had taken second place. Tony didn’t think that would change anytime soon.

The captain had only left to go downstairs to sit with the landlord, Hans, and a few other men from the apartment unit at the door when it sounded like one of the HJ-Patrols was getting closer.

Tony hadn’t gone with. Professor Sieger’s little glances at the bedroom door, where the children slept fitfully (if at all) had rooted him to the spot. There was so much a person did for love. Or out of fear.

He would know wouldn’t he? A manic burst of laughter bubbled up and bursting out of Tony. Sieger cast him an alarmed look and edged away from him. Tony reached for another apple slice and crunched down on it, giving himself something else (anything else) to focus on.

“This is all so horrible. Where were the police?” the professor wondered aloud. Around. Tony thought in answer but kept his silence.

“Inola, Dear, have another drink. You look faint.” Sieger passed her a cup, the brief scent of tea and whiskey filling Tony's senses. The professors square hand rested heavily on her shoulder for a moment before he clasped them behind his back to resume his pacing. Tony was going to go insane with the sound of it.

The rioting was like a tide going in and going out. One moment the street outside was quiet the next, someone had started a fight or broken a window and the wail of fire engines would shatter the stillness.  They were doing everything they could, a neighboring tenant had assured them, to protect the homes and businesses of Good Germans from the flames engulfing they synagogues and other Jewish establishments.

Tony had always hated the quiet. Too often it was just the breath before terror.

Sieger kept up his pacing. Kept looking toward the door like he expected Stefen to come back kicking it down. He wasn't sure why he said it, but the words were coming out of his mouth before he had a chance to think.

“You don’t have to worry about him.”

If Tony hadn’t been looking for it he would have missed the way Sieger twitched before he jumped to defend himself.

“What- I don’t know what you mean?”

Tony stared at him. He knew that look, had seen it in the mirror a thousand times, on his father’s face, on his uncle’s face and the face of his grandparents. Sieger had already decided Stefen was to be feared and that made him someone to watch. The lesson was repeating itself right outside the window, that there wasn’t much people couldn’t bring themselves to do when they found a need to defend themselves.

“Still.” Tony said after a long moment of indecision. Did he show his hand (tell this man he was harboring more than one Jew)? Would it do any good?

“Don’t worry about him.”

Professor Sieger’s eyes narrowed and he fixed Tony with a disgusted look that only halfway masked the fear in his gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t like what you're insinuating. I’ve nothing to do with any of THAT.” He spat. “Fräulein Regenbogen and I have always been faithful citizens. Patriots.”

Weren’t they all, Tony thought with a dry twist of his mouth. Sieger eyed Tony distrustfully, resuming his pacing as he muttered, “The sooner all this calms down the better. You’ll see.”

Tony highly doubted that.

~*~

Three hours later and Tony finally managed to get a hold of Pepper. At first the woman was tense, a frantic edge to her voice but once she confirmed it really was him on the line and that the captain as well as the children were all safe and accounted for, she rallied, tone going as smooth and collected as it always was. It was the first thing to make Tony genuinely smile in days.

She didn’t stay on the phone long, not wishing to clog up the lines any more than they had to with so many people trying to connect with loved ones. She would send Harold with the car as soon as the roads cleared up. He rejected her attempt to call for the baroness. Tony didn't have the energy to try and convince Stefen to leave his post and certainly none to field comforting the man’s fiancé on his behalf.

If Stefen wanted to speak to her he could damn well do it himself. The baroness deserved to hear from her little cousins (soon to be her own children) and of course from her fiancé, but Tony couldn't bring himself to care about navigating that infuriating (and vaguely incestuous) tangle of relational ties; not when not even twenty-four hours ago a man had tried to brain him over the head with a pipe simply for _looking_ somewhat Jewish. Not when they would do it again (again and again and again) until his brains were smeared across the pavement and there was nothing left of him.

Jews out.

“Tony.” Pepper’s voice called through the fog in his head. The way she said his name, like she knew. As if she might know every last thing battering around in his heart and his head in that moment. He had to bite his lip, a sob welling up in his throat. He was so tired of being afraid.

 “Tony, be careful.”

Be careful. Whether she was talking directly to his deplorable affair with their employer, his somewhat Jewish looks, or simply just a heartfelt plea to make it home in one peace as the world crumbled around them he didn't know. Either way, it didn't' matter. He hung up and walked back upstairs.

~*~

It was another six hours before it died down enough that they could leave reasonably safely. They still had to be careful, as harsh voices and the sounds of another fight could still occasionally be heard. Tony and the children waited upstairs, rationing off what food Professor Sieger had in his pantry while Stefen stood sentinel at the door downstairs keeping an eye out for Harold with the car.

Artur had crawled into Tony’s lap at the start of the meal and now refused to be moved. Both he and Sara were clutching at parts of Tony’s shirt with dazed expressions.

In a chair opposite, Ian blinked slowly and lifted his head, his eyes moving to the door and his brow furrowing at it deeply. Fraulein Regenbogen had stepped out a few hours ago and had not returned. Tony was nearly positive she was hidden away somewhere, out of sight and out of mind. The soldier currently outside their door would have no reason to remember her or to think on her face. Most likely Sieger was doing his best to keep Stefen distracted and not wondering too much on her absence.

Wasted energy, but Tony wouldn't begrudge his paranoia.

Ian stirred, his eyes still focused on the door.

“Sit down,” Tony commanded without looking up. Ian aborted his movement, and then thought better of it. Tony could feel Artur shifting in his lap underneath to peer at his brother as he asked in voice small and thin with anxiety, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to check on –“ Ian began to say.

“You’re really not,” Tony snapped, finally lifted his head. It felt like he was lifting bricks. “Sit down.”

To Tony's surprise Ian shot him a dirty look and kept for the door.

No!

He sat Artur down next to Sara and bolted after Ian, Artur’s screaming sob of protest ringing in his ears. He’d only made it halfway into the hall when Tony grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back.

“I’m not a little boy! I can help.” Ian yelled, kicking and pushing at Tony with surprising strength. The words stung, like acid thrown against the skin. Péter had said those very words. Péter who was gone. Who had been outside in that horror (because of Tony). Who could even now be crushed into the back of a cattle car on his way to anywhere, or lying in a bed of glass beneath some window.

“You’re a child!” Tony yanked with all his might, heard the boy’s collar tear and barely even registered the sound for what it was. He swung Ian around, gripping his shoulders punishingly as he shook him. “You’re a child and there’s not a god damn thing you can do!”

The door swung open, light flooding in from outside and pouring over their faces. Stefen stood there in the doorway, tense and ready with pistol cocked, drawn by the commotion.

“What’s going on? I heard screaming.”

Ian snapped his head around, pale tear streaked face lighting up in hope.

“I want to stand guard, with you.” Even if the light wasn’t blinding him and they had been closer Tony wasn't sure he would have seen any change in Stefan’s face. He didn't even frown.

“Back inside.” The Captain ordered, already turning back to the stairwell. Tony wanted to scream curses, everything inside him was so red and enflamed. What made Captain Rogers think it was that easy? Hadn’t he learned anything yet?

Ian yanked his way out of Tony’s loosened grip and stumbled toward his father, eyes all ablaze and mouth twisted up stubbornly.

“Da! Please, I –”

“Ian!” Ian froze as his father stalked toward him. Tony felt the hair on his arms raise and fought the urge to lean away, faced with the sheer intensity of Stefen’s gaze as he bore down on them. When he was toe to toe with Ian he spoke again, very lowly.

“Péter’s not here.” A simple sentence, but Stefen made it carry the weight of the world. “I need you. You and Tacha have to look out for the others.”

Ian shook his head franticly, shoulders beginning to shake.

“Please. Da please. I'm old enough. I won’t be scared. I-I won’t miss, I-"

Tony’s heart cracked in his chest as Stefen grabbed the trembling boy by the shoulders, forcing Ian still even as Ian continued stammering something unintelligible, eyes wide and pleading. With an eerie calmness Stefan took hold of his face, hands gentle but firm as they held him.

“Tacha needs you to have her back. I’m coming back. I am. I always am.”

Tony sucked in a harsh breath, his heart aching. Promise number one: never lie to them. He’d made the children very few promises but he remembered that one.

Stefen shouldn't promise things like that. Ian might believe him. Might think Stefen had a choice when he didn’t.

“Da?” Ian’s voice was fragile as he held on tightly to the hands holding his face.

“Ian.” Tony’s hands remembered gentleness as he touched Ian’s shoulder, and Ian looked at him eyes swimming. “Tacha really does need you. I’ll look out for your father.”

Stefen’s eyes met his, questioning and Tony met his stare, amending, “We’ll look out for each other.”

Stefen continued to stare at him for a long drawn out moment. Then he nodded, catching Ian’s eyes and jerking his head toward the door in silent command. Ian took a shuddered breath for courage and reluctantly moved back. He stopped just before he crossed the threshold, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly and biting his lip.

“I’ll call you if I need your help” Stefan assured him softy. Like hell he would. But Ian nodded and darted back inside. Tony closed the door behind him. There was a rustling behind him and he turned just in time for Stefen to toss him a small iron key. He held it in his hand for a moment thinking how he must have gotten it from Sieger and then turned and locked the door with a click.

~*~

An hour later and the street was finally quiet.

Stefen's shoulder was pressed against his as they stood in the stairway. Seiger had gone upstairs so it was only them against whatever came through the front door. He was certain Stefen had placed himself on point, somewhat in front on purpose. Another day he’d look back on this and mayhap find it endearing.

He could hear the stairwell creak with age it was so quiet. Stefen hadn’t moved a muscle in what felt like hours, but realistically Tony knew was probably only closer to one.

“How are your wounds?” Stefen asked gruffly, apropos of nothing and Tony shifted, turning to appraise him just as carefully as he found himself being appraised.

Stefen had left the house in full uniform, but now he was hatless, hair filthy with soot and curling around his temples sticky with dried sweat. His jacket was torn in several places and his skin was littered with small cuts and bruises.

All and all he hadn’t faired too badly for someone who’d fought through a mob. Compared to Tony, who was sure he was black and blue from the beating those men had tried to give him. Tony tasted the fear again in his mouth, stale and bitter. He was so god damn tired of being afraid.

Stefen reached one handed, fingers gently brushing the bruised swell of Tony’s cheek. Tony shivered and ran his tongue over the split in his lip, allowing the sting to ground him, heart thudding heavily inside his chest as he came to the precipice of a decision he hadn’t even known he was making until it was suddenly set before him.

 “Dachau.” His voice rang in the silence. Blue eyes flicked to him and Stefen let his hand drop. Tony thought his stance couldn't get any tenser, but he’d been wrong. 

“I’m the best for it, Cap and you know it.”

Stefen held his gaze for a moment and then it flicked away, back to the door. Dismissing the conversation just like that.

“No.”

Stiffening Tony pointed out, “I wasn't asking.”

“Yeah, well I’m telling.” Stefen bit back in reply.  Tony balled his fists at his sides, trying to keep his temper in check.

“I’m not asking you.” He repeated. “I’m telling you because I...I’m your friend.”

He was close enough to see the storm brewing in Stefen’s eyes, the way the blue deepened at the word friend. Close enough to see, that even if he couldn’t say that other word aloud, friend was understood. Not exactly just as good, and not exactly better either. Just good, on its own. He hoped they’d always be friends, and he fully anticipated Stefen protecting his friends the best way he knew how.

“We talked about this Tony.”

“We did,” Tony acknowledged with a small nod. “And I’ve had time to reconsider it. You and Bucky don’t run the resistance. I fail to see why - when I approach them with a solid plan, connections with the church, ready means and time - why they would refuse my help.” He pointed out softly, because it wasn’t a fight, and his aim wasn’t to injure Stefen with the truth. Just for him to accept it. But it seemed to be a vain hope because Stefen growled low in his throat, ripping his gaze away from Tony, unable to keep looking him in the eye.

“I don’t- Tony stop it.” If Stefen had meant for the please that punched its way out of his throat to sound like a command, he missed the mark by a mile.

“No. You stop.” Tony insisted. There was a quiet confidence taking hold of him and he wondered if this was how Yinsen had felt, that day in the wood when he’d told Tony to run. Certain and calm even in the face of what might kill him. Too full for the sort of fear that debilitated, that allows the people you love to stay in harms way.

 “You’re not going to Dachau. Tony, I can’t-”

Tony cut him off. “I am. Because I’m going to contact the others and offer myself and they are going to accept because they will see I. Am.The. most. Capable. There is no reason I shouldn’t go to Dachau.”

And then, because Tony couldn't help himself.

 “I’m not playing hero,” he whispered and he was proud of the way his voice didn't betray him. Stefen’s gaze changed, eyes widening slightly in recognition of his own words. He opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some belated apology, another flimsy excuse, or worse still, repeat the accusation. Tony waved him silent, he didn't need to hear it, any of it. He was going to Dachau. Whether Stefen agreed to it or not. Whether Tony would have a home to come back to or not.

Stefen caught his hand, gripping it tightly, startling Tony for a moment.

“There’s every reason,” he whispered so fervently Tony shifted uneasily. “Tony, I did-“

Tony pulled his hand away, resisting the heat, the earnestness, his own damnable weakness.

 “No reason good enough, Stefen.” He took a step back, gaining some much-needed distance. He wouldn’t be swayed. Not this time.

"We could have left.” Tony reminded him. There was no censure in it, not anymore. He’d wanted to go. Begged to go a few times. He realized now that it had been rooted in cowardice. “But you… you look out there and you see people you need to protect. Well, there are people I need to protect too.”

Stefen frowned, no doubt wondering who he thought he could help by going on this mission to Dachau. “Who-? Tony, if you are worried about your grandparents, you know I can-” But Tony cut him off again before Stefen could continue to shake his resolve, his courage. He had to get it out before he lost his nerve. If he didn't tell Stefen now he never would, and he needed to.

Tony realized with an ache so deep opening in his chest he was afraid he’d fall into it, that he needed to look the captain in the eye and know that Stefen saw him, all of him, and that if Stefen could not, his heart would not recover.

 _Look at me. Entreat me not to part from you._      

“You saved the Leshnerr Twins.” Tony’s voice was raspy, the muscles in his throat tight with tension. Steve’s eyes were too blue. Too focused. Never close enough. “You saved them because it was the right thing to do, and because they are gypsies. Rom. Your people.”

Face clouded with confusion and apprehension Stefen reached for him slowly, his hand touching Tony’s shaking shoulder with excruciating gentleness and Tony flinched away from the touch. Couldn’t bare it just then.

“We’re the same you see, because I need to save my people. The Jews.”  Stefen dropped the hand reaching for Tony, the blood drained from his face but Tony took another step backward. He’d hid the secret for so long that he found it laughably easy to keep going once the words had left his tongue. They were a shuddering breath crisp in his lungs after being held under water. Dizzying.

“You’re a Jew?” Stefen asked slowly, as if testing the words. Tony nodded and waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. Stefen said nothing, didn’t reach for him (why would he?) only continued to stare at Tony as if he were seeing him for the very first time. He’d gotten his wish after all, Tony thought with bitter amusement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stefen finally asked, his voice a desperate rasping sound that echoed up the empty stairwell. A stupid question with an obvious answer, what with the distance between them, that Tony didn’t dignify with an answer.

“I couldn’t save my mother or Yinsen.” he finished, resolute. “I couldn’t save any of those poor people last night, but I can do this. I will do this.”

Stefen’s jaw locked and he took an angry step forward and Tony tensed, muscles locking into place, bracing instinctively for a blow that didn’t come and Stefen jerked like he’d been struck instead and came to a sudden halt.

 _Stupid._ He thought viciously. _Of course Stefen hadn’t hit him. Stefen wasn’t like them. He knew that! He knew -_

Tony’s heart leaped into his throat with fright as a horn blared outside. Before he knew what was happening Stefen had stepped in front of him, pushing him backward with one unyielding hand against his chest, the other already drawing his pistol.

“It’s probably Hogan, with the car,” Tony reminded them both over the pounding of blood in his eardrums.

“Upstairs. I’ll come get you if it’s safe.” Stefen ordered, eyes trained on the door and his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. For once Tony didn’t feel like giving him one. He turned and left, praying that it really was just Harold, and that the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours was nearly over.

 

~~*~S~*~~

 

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Natacha cry. She must have when her mother had died, he knew that logically. But no matter how hard he tried to remember, all that he recalled was her pale face and her skinny arms and legs drowning in a black dress. Her vibrant hair had been tamed into a severe bun because her mother wasn’t there to help her get the curls she liked and Virginia insisted that buns were more practical for a funeral.

Maybe she had cried that day and maybe she hadn’t, but the first thing she did when they finally pulled up to the villa and Frau Hogan was there, throwing open the door to rush out and meet them, was to burst into tears and run into the woman’s arms. There was some yelling and commotion from the rest of the children as they were set upon by Charlotte and the rest of the house staff, which quickly dissolved into tears and weepy accounts of their ordeal. The bravery that Steve had demanded from them reaching its limit now that they were home.

Virginia didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks as she held Tacha’s face, fingers stroking over the girl’s grubby skin like it was precious porcelain. Steve didn’t try to hear what words the exchanged. His eyes moving methodically from one child to the next even as he carefully scrutinized their surroundings.

He barely acknowledged Charlotte as she appeared before him, fine lines of worry around her mouth and anguish in her eyes that betrayed her usual stoic appearance as she touched his arm gently before throwing her arms around him. He patted her back absently, but didn’t let himself become too distracted from keeping watch. It only took the enemy a moment to strike and there were so many places out here to hide.

Harold was saying something about how the bulk of the riots had not bothered to come out this far, but a few synagogues had been burned. A truck full of men had come by, looking for Jews but there were not many this far out in the country. Steve kept watch because he knew better than to relax. Refused to even. He had too much to protect.

As if pulled by the thought, Steve’s gaze landed on Tony - an unusually quiet presence standing in the middle of the hubbub, who was holding a silent teary-eyed Maria to his side and gently stroking her shoulder as they waited for the group to make its way indoors.

Tony must have felt Steve’s eyes on him because he turned his head slightly, but his gaze slid past Steve so easily that if Steve didn’t know him better he’d have been tempted to think Tony hadn’t noticed him at all.

Jaw tightening Steve resisted the urge to check the pocket of his jacket for his pistol. It was there. He was ready if those men came back. They were sitting targets out here.

“We need to get inside. Go. Quickly,” he ordered, and the murmur of voices died quickly, fear and apprehension creeping back in as the adults scrambled to comply, ushering the children along as quickly as they were able.

Stefen let the others pass him, taking rear guard. His eyes flicked away from scanning the grounds briefly when the sound of a shudder breath drew his attention to James, who had managed to make it over the doorstep where he’d frozen, staring into the house as if he didn’t recognize it.  Big tears were rolling down his rounded cheeks and not the theatrical sort they’d all become used to. His shoulders began to shake when Steve laid a hand against his back. He turned and buried his face against Steve's jacket, shaking like a leaf, but managed to keep moving as Steve guided him the rest of the way inside.  He struggled to be gentle with James and hoped he managed it; but Stefen couldn’t breathe an easy breath until they were all inside and Harold closed the door firmly behind them and bolted it. Even then, he could not let his guard down. That door wouldn’t hold back a mob.

~*~

Most of the staff hadn’t come into work that morning and what staff had come would have found it nearly impossible to keep the house running normally even if Steve had enough mind to make them try. Hammer was one of the ones who hadn’t shown up. Steve tried hard not to wonder if he’d been in the mob or hiding from it. It was just as well. Steve wasn’t sure he could survive trying to keep an eye on his children, Tony, Charlotte, The Hogans and Hammer all in one night.

He was barley managing to do it now. The children had gone terribly clingy, prone to break out into tears and distress at the thought of being separated from each other or if Steve was out of their sight for too long.  But Tony couldn’t seem to sit still (damn him).  They’d all be settled in one room where Stefen could watch them and all the entrances, he’d turn for a second and Tony would disappear out of his view and Steve would lose his breath.

He’d do a desperate count (one, three, …) and before he could finish he’d realize he couldn’t hear Tacha quietly murmuring to the youngest children anymore and the adrenaline would spike, panic creeping in until he found them (four, five, six). It played like a record track, going around and around again.

He could see that his behavior was putting the children on edge. He wasn’t any good for them like this, but he refused to leave them unprotected. Charlotte made a good effort to separate them and send him to bed for rest but there was no help for it, the minute Steve stepped out of the room (even just to talk to Virginia) one of them was calling for him in a frightened voice that had him back at their side in seconds.

Charlotte took charge in other ways, competently directing Virginia and Milthide in heating blankets to keep the children warm (the furnace was struggling with no one there to monitor feeding it) and heat water for washing. The women preoccupied, left Harold to mind the children (when he wasn’t roped into some form of labor too much for the women to handle on their own) and Tony to argue with Steve.

And argue they did. Tony didn’t take orders well on a good day, and today was anything but a good day. He wouldn’t stay still, was the problem, and Steve needed to know where he was. It should be obvious why, but Tony was irritable and snappish every time Steve tried to speak with him.

Tony got the bright idea to go see the abbot, yes right then and there because he insisted he needed to be _doing_ something. Something other than surviving Steve supposed. He’d snapped something churlish and harsh when Steve finally had enough and demanded he stay put. The fight that followed was loud and heated, like it always was between them, only this time it was different too. Harsher. More teeth. Distance between them that left Steve feeling cold and urgent in a way there was no recourse for but to keep shouting and pushing himself into Tony’s space.

He might have eventually grabbed him to force him ( _sit there damn it, where I can see you_ ) if not for Virginia – drawn by the shouting – inserting herself between them.

“Stop this, both of you! Think of the children,” was enough to get them to stop screaming at one another at least, Virginia’s fierce glare reprimanding him into silence before she rounded in on Tony. “And you. Whatever you think you can help by going back to the abbey right now, just put it right out of your head. We need Harold here and you’d find trouble long before you got there on foot. You’re no help to anyone Tony, getting yourself maimed or worse.”

Steve wanted to keep yelling all the reasons why Tony should do more than stick close. He was a target for god’s sake! A Jew. Hadn’t he seen! Had he forgotten already, the blows he’d suffered thanks to men who only suspected?! If anyone knew for sure… if any one of the staff got suspicious - for a wild moment, Steve’s thoughts raced through his staff, then flew to Charlotte’s maid, and then Charlotte herself. Neither had much love for Tony and Charlotte was already curious about him. Steve shuddered.

He’d been so careless. Selfish. Inconsiderate of anything besides his need for Tony and unwilling to heed Bucky’s warnings. Charlotte was clever and very good and manipulating circumstances to get the things she wanted. Not usually for malicious reasons, but when it came to matters of the heart… it changed people.

Now… Steve didn’t know what to do. How was he meant to keep Tony safe? Hell, he could barely get Tony to stay in the same room! Was he going to have to chain him to the furniture to keep him from endangering himself? Going to Dachau with the resistance, running off the way Péter had done…

_Breathe. You have no right to stop now._

Steve forced the breathes to keep coming – in out – emptying his head of anything that wasn’t related to keeping the house safe. He couldn’t focus on the simmering anger he could feel coming from Tony. There wasn’t room.

_You’re weak._

The hours crawled by, but night eventually came again, putting another day between themselves and the horror. It didn’t help. Bedtime came and Steve found himself facing the prospect of sending them all off to their separate bedrooms and he just – _can’t –_ couldn’t stop the fear from creeping up, couldn’t stop thinking about how large the house was and how many places to hide, kept hearing screams in the night and smelling the smoke.

The little ones started crying. James howled that he didn’t want to go. Wasn’t tired. Wanted to sleep with Uncle Bucky, and then cried for Péter. Neither of whom were there for him. Brilliant in its own way. Clever boy.

Steve jerked when something touched his arm.

“Stefen...” Charlotte called his name again, like she’d been calling it before. “Stefen, I know how it feels, but they should be in their own beds. Things will not be normal again until they return to their routine and see that it is safe.”

“It’s not safe.” He retorted, too loud, flinching when he felt the children’s eyes widening on him.

“We are all here. We will all be watching them so it is safe.” Charlotte countered, calm and confident with a soft smile for the children before she returned her full focus to him, repeating. “They’re safe now, Darling.”

Steve disagreed. He couldn’t split himself into three persons to be in three separate rooms so obviously they were not safe! If there was an attack it would be harder to escape from the second floor. They should stay where they were. The sitting room was a more defensible position. His face must have spoken for him, because before he could grind out some sort of reply Virginia had clapped her hands together for the children’s attention and was gathering up a crying Maria and Artur, suggesting cheerfully that they all sleep in the music room as a compromise.

Steve allowed it to happen, because the music room had two exits (the main door and the serving door) and because Virginia didn’t give him much choice. He helped with the moving of mattresses and gathering of blankets as they got everyone settled into music room. Glad to have a plan of action again, finding each menial task soothing.

But somewhere between trading ruined clothes for nightshirts and tucking the children into bed, Steve’s skin prickled, the hair rising on the back of his neck with sudden realization. He couldn’t hear Tony. Virginia and Charlotte where there, Virginia stroking back James bangs and whispering to him softly as she tucked him in. Sara was sound asleep in Charlotte’s arms as she walked in between the makeshift beds, intent on finding an empty space for them. Maria was curled up with Artur, looking like a pair of conjoined twins.

No Tony. Where had he gone? Damn it! Logically Steve knew Tony couldn’t be far, it hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen him, he was most likely off seeing to personal needs, but it didn’t stop the anxiety from clawing at him to know where Tony had gone.

What if he’d been more injured than Steve thought and why hadn’t he checked? What if more men had come to demand Jews come out? What if he’d decided to go back to the abbey anyway, despite all their warnings? Where was he?! Steve needed to know and he didn’t know! They needed to all be together, but they weren’t, and Tony was…Tony was _vulnerable_ , in so many ways, ways that Steve had not even considered before he knew - god damn it, where was he?!

_Breathe. Think._

It took a quick casing of the house to realize that Tony must have retreated to his own room, the locked door a giveaway despite his refusal to answer any of Steve’s knocks.

Virginia looked up from where she lay with Harold as Steve reentered the music room to blink owlishly at him in question. In the few minutes he’d been gone it looked like the younger children had fallen asleep, likely driven there by sheer exhaustion. He tried for stealth, and judging by the look Virginia gave him only achieved the stealth of bull.

“Everything alright Captain?” she asked quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by Harold’s snore.

“I need the master key.”

She handed them over without a word, her eyes falling on James who was curled up in her arms, and silently stroking his back.

He shouldn’t leave them unprotected. The thought came, and Steve tore his eyes away from them and forced himself to rise. He had to find Tony. He wouldn’t be gone long because Tony was just in his room and Steve would bring him back and they would all be where they needed to be.

~*~

Tony’s door was still locked. From that moment in Hasenkamp’s office Steve had been wrapped in a cloud of red hot focus, it narrowed his vison, kept him calm when he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind. That tight grip on his control was unraveling as he fumbled with the key, trying to jam it into the lock and not succeeding because of the unsteadiness of his hands.

“Tony!” he called out in warning (in need) holding his breath in the moment of silence that followed. And then finally, from inside he heard Tony snap.

“Go away.”

Steve slumped against the door like a puppet with cut strings. He braced a hand against the wood to hold himself up. Tony was here. But he wasn’t safe. Not yet. Grinding his teeth together Steve pushed himself back up.

“Tony, let me in.” He called out again, voice steadier but not feeling like his own.

There was a scraping sound, a chair moving and then Tony’s voice, closer this time.

“Is there something you need?”

 _You_. Steve immediately thought. _Just you, with me and the children_. But he knew Tony’s games now, and he was in no mood to play them.

“Let me in?” He asked, weariness pitching his voice lower. 

He could just use the key. That’s why he’d asked for it, to have access to Tony’s locked room for God’s sake, but now that he was there and he could hear Tony on the other end of the door he’d put between them, Steve couldn’t bring himself to open it. It seemed wrong somehow without Tony’s permission. A strange feeling to have perhaps, considering Steve was master of the house and all the other times he’d barged in on Tony in the music room or his workshop but the feeling rooted his feet to the spot nonetheless.

Was that the way it was going to be between them? Tony with his walls (his damn secrets and the lies he told to keep them) and Steve ramming them down only for Tony to retreat behind another?

The thought alone was hopeless.

“Tony, please.”

For a long moment it was silent in the hall, no response coming from within. Steve breathed deeply in and out, methodically focusing on each breath refusing to think on the possibility of that door not opening.

The click of the lock turning filled the hall like the toll of a bell and relief flooded through Steve’s whole body.  Steve gripped the knob, turning it and opening the door slowly.

Tony had his back to the door, padding on bare feet back toward his desk table. He pulled the chair out from the table with his foot, arranging it behind a tin washtub set on the floor and sitting down with a tired grunt. The low lamp illuminated his tired face, making the purple bruises around his face appear all the darker. He looked tired and unkempt, his trousers rolled up above his ankles, his legs spread wide and feet firmly planted. The medical kit was open beside him on the table. There was a discarded wash towel and butterfly bandages spread out as if he’d thrown them down in aggravation. As Steve approached him he noticed that the water in the tub was stained pink.

Had he reopened a wound? Steve wondered, his gut clenching. The cut on his scalp had bled a lot, but then again, all head wounds did at first.  

Despite his loose-limbed posture Steve wasn’t fool enough to think Tony was in any way relaxed. A bottle of Genever (most likely pinched from Bucky’s room) rested open on the table, no glass in sight. Steve approached Tony carefully, eyeing the nearly empty bottle. For once he actually hoped that Bucky’s efforts had gone into draining the bottle as much as Tony’s.

“What do you want, Captain?” Tony repeated. There was no slur, but plenty of bite.

Master of the house indeed. He could have been sitting on rubbish and made it seem like throne.  Tony sounded more like an irritated Rom Baro than his children’s tutor. Not at all like the friend he had come to cherish. Not like the man that he-

Steve bit his tongue, willing the thought away not to invite more pain.

He made a gesture at Tony’s face and Tony lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

“Why are you here?” Steve unstuck his throat and asked, trying his best to keep from moving too quickly as he approached, remembering keenly the way Tony had flinched away from him in the stairwell. It was everything he could do not to touch him, not to crowd him, intent on making sure he was all right again.

Someone had cleaned his head wound and managed to put something of a bandage on it. Had Tony done it himself? Virginia? Had Steve? He could not recall the past hours as clearly as he wanted to but he pushed down the panic at not knowing ( _how could he let that happen_?) shoving it far down to be examined later. _Or never_. He could go his whole life without acknowledging the insanity that lived under his skin. It was dangerous to look at and risk setting free.

 “I could ask the same about you?” Tony replied after a long moment, head cocked as he considered Steve. The dim light made his eyes seem liquid. Or maybe that was the Genever. Steve just stared at him. Why was he here? It seemed too obvious to even state. He was where Tony was. Tony should know that, but he didn’t seem to as he huffed twisting in his seat to reach for the bottle.

“Sorry but I’m not in the mood for a fuck, _Chavo_.” Tony sneered, deliberately accenting the crass words until he sounded like some twisted version of Bucky, complete with the eyes that accused Steve of all kinds of idiocy and betrayal. Tony had never made a joke out of the roughness that sometimes-colored Steve’s speech. The distinctly rounded sounds and vocal patterns of the Rom. It stung, but he supposed he deserved a little viciousness, after what he’d said when Péter went missing… It felt like a different life now. But Steve remembered. He’d been vicious. Cruel. He hadn’t meant what he’d said… well most of it. But he hadn’t meant to hurt Tony, not really, only he _had_. In that moment he had, and he didn’t know how to keep breathing with the weight of guilt filling up his chest.

Tony shot him a calculating look before tipping the bottle to his lips, effectively dismissing him. Steve tightened his jaw. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Hatred or no hatred, Steve would keep Tony safe.

“You shouldn’t be alone.” He stated firmly. That he knew, down to the center off his being. Tony Stark should not be alone.

The monk barked out a humorless laugh, white teeth glinting.

“Nothing is as it ‘should be’ Cap,” he scoffed taking another deep swig from the bottle. Steve watch the liquid go down, tensing. Any other day this kind of behavior would have angered him but tonight it felt like a test.

“You shouldn’t be alone.” He repeated, coming closer, wanting to touch him, make sure he was real. He didn’t do much more than shift but Tony shot him a look, so raw with pain, that, Steve paused again. Alright, slower.

“May I see?” Steve gestured to the kit hopefully. He could fix that, if Tony would let him. These were wounds he could dress. Something he knew well how to do.

Tony stared at him, the silence stretching in a long undefinable moment before he leaned back in the creaking chair and opened his arms in mock invitation.

Wordlessly Steve grabbed the open kit and knelt down with it in hand. He knew he was pushing his luck, knelt practically between his legs, but Tony had invited him in and Steve wasn’t above taking advantage of the opening. It was an incredibly intimate position, but for the first time the proximity didn’t inspire the ever-present hum of want beneath Steve’s skin.

Bracketed between Tony’s legs, the heat he emanated warming Steve’s chilled skin through his clothing, just made him feel lighter in a strange way, easier to breathe. Safe. Connected. _Home_. Steve leaned down, inhaling shakily, and began to check the wound beneath the crusted bandage on Tony’s forehead. The cut wound all the way up into his hairline, though you could hardly see it now through the bruising that surrounded the area. It was thankfully not a very deep gash and not in need of stitches.  The bruising on Tony’s face made it look worse than it was. He was so purple and blue, as if someone had taken offense to his face and tried to rip it off. Steve’s gut clenched tightly.

He’d come so close to- _No_! He wouldn’t think it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked instead, dabbing gently around the gash with a towel soaked in alcohol. Tony winced, replying through his teeth, “Is that a real question?”

Steve took another deep breath, refusing to take the bait. It didn’t do much but buy him time, but it was time enough to collect himself for his next words.

“You let me take you to Berlin. You came and you, what? Tony what was your plan? Why did you let me do that? I put you in danger.”

“I was in just as much danger here in Salzburg.” Tony scoffed but he didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He leaned away, putting distance between them and Steve held himself back from chasing after him.

“Berlin. Salzburg, what does it matter? It changes nothing.” Tony said and Steve jerked. How could he say that?

“It changes everything.”

“No. It changes nothing!” Tony insisted, aggravated, rising slightly in his chair as he glared up at Steve.  “I’m still a Jew, whether I’m having dinner here or in Berlin. They’re still burning us out right here in Salzburg like we’re rats. I’m going, to stop them, because I must, and if you don’t want me in your house when I get back, that is fine I can -”

Steve grabbed his shoulders and held him down to keep him from getting up further out of the chair, and running away, because that’s what Tony did. He never stopped moving, and when he was upset with you he just moved all the faster. _Run run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me I’m the –_ Steve growled, shaking his head to clear it, battling against the falling sensation that wanted to overwhelm him.

“Tony! What the hell are you talking about? Of course I wan’t you to come back. I don’t want you to go at all damn it!”

“You don’t want me to get shot by the Gestapo. That’s a far cry from wanting me here. I know the difference.” Tony spat in reply, his voice was hard, bitter even, but there was something tortured in his eyes. A kind of pleading that Steve wanted to obliterate and did not know how. There was no target here. Nothing to aim at.

“You’re a good man, and now you feel obligated to protect me. But I don’t want that. I never wanted that – yes, alright, maybe at first that was my intent, damn it. But things have changed! I won’t endanger you or your children anymore because you feel a duty. You’ll get hurt. You’ll all get-” Tony’s voice broke and a sob tore out of his mouth, pulled from deep within his chest. His hands darted out to catch Steve’s shirt as he swayed, holding on, holding himself up, holding tight even as he twisted his upper body away from him. Wrong. It was all wrong.

 _Stop_. It all had to stop – it was the only thought in his head as he pulled Tony in, hand cupped behind his neck to hold him still as he took his mouth. Tony was stiff against him at first, jerking violently with shock, and wrenching his head in a halfhearted attempt at getting free even as his hands balled in Steve’s shirt and clutched tighter, his mouth opening under Steve’s with a moan pulled from deep in his chest.

He was so warm in Steve’s arms his body heat seeping through his clothes and warming the chill Steve hadn’t been able to shake even though they’d been indoors for hours. His hands were so strong, his grip fierce as his hands came up to hold Steve’s face and pull him close.

Steve tore his mouth away, panting for breath and Tony shuddered, swaying as if he might fall. Steve pulled him back in until their foreheads pressed together. His heart beating wildly against his ribs in tandem with Tony’s.

“Stefen?” Tony’s voice sounded weak and desperate with hope.

“You need this, then we will come up with a plan” Steve grit out, hands tightening where he held Tony despite the words that promised letting go. “But don’t talk about not coming back. You have to. I can’t –I can’t handle it if you don’t.”

 “I want to. God, Stefen I do, but the children. If those men come back - they were like animals. They -” A desperate keen eeked out of Tony’s mouth, his hands clenching tighter as he nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve hitched himself closer, one hand sliding up and down Tony’s thigh, soothing, the dirty fabric catching on his palms.

“Then we face them together.” Steve promised. Swore it on his soul. “Tony I need you to come downstairs. I need – I need you where I can see you.”

The words poured from him before he had a chance to push them back in, slot them back into the folds of himself where they belonged. He wanted to choke them back but what would be the point? It was just a fact. It shouldn’t be so terrifying.

He’d come so close to losing Tony, just like he’d lost Péter. The children could have been hurt or worse, but instead _Tony_ had been hurt, protecting Steve’s children when he could have run. Should have.

“I need you.” Steve whispered again because it was the truth.

Tony leaned his head back to blink slowly up at him. His nimble fingers had worked their way into Steve’s hair and were now holding his head steady. His eyes looked deeply into Steve’s, diving through the depths in search of what lay hidden inside, and a glimmer of that quicksilver smile appeared. Steve hadn’t known how much he needed to see it again until it was being given to him.

 “I think I understand now.” Tony said softly and he leaned up pressing a dry chaste kiss to his lips. Steve held on tight.

Because he loved him.

The thought burned clearly in his mind, undeniably true and terrifying for that.

He loved this man. For his wit and humor. For his sarcastic wicked nature. Through the haze of panic and weariness that fogged his mind that truth continued to burn bright. He loved Tony. There was some poem wasn’t there?

‘How do I love thee?’

Peggy had loved the idea of counting endlessly the likeness of the one you loved. Would she think it so beautiful now, the way his head spun around in circles counting all the ways in which he loved Tony Stark? He didn’t know. Worse he didn’t care. 

He couldn’t let him go. But Tony was right, he needed to protect his family. The Jews, his _familia_ , how could Steve ask Tony not to fight for them?

He was holding Tony too tightly, though Tony didn’t protest. He did jerk back with a hiss of pain when Steve shifted, inadvertently rolling his forehead against the swollen tissue around his cut.

“What happened?” Steve asked, gently cupping Tony’s jaw and refocusing on the bruises littering Tony’s face. Tony had never said what happened, and now Steve needed to know like the question was a live wire under his skin.

“Two men, wanted to know which of them was the fairest. Frankly, I thought they were both ugly as sin.” Tony rubbed at Stefen’s arms, reminding him to loosen his grip. He flinched when Steve reached and his fingers found the corner of the largest bruise. “Ouch. As you can see, the pipe didn’t agree with me.”

Somebody had hit him with a pipe?! Steve thought with a jolt, his mind flashed to the pipe Tony had swung at his head when he’d broken through the door.

“Hey, stay with me Cap.” Tony cajoled, continuing the gentle motion of his hands rubbing over Steve’s skin. He was being distracting on purpose, purposefully making light of what he’d suffered just keep Steve grounded. Maybe he could feel it, how close to the edge Steve was. Hell he could probably see it, Steve wasn’t doing the best job hiding the insanity bubbling inside his head right now.

“I should have been there. I-” Steve began, anxiety spiking as his eyes flicked over his many wounds again.

“No, no, none of that. You were there. All of your incessant nagging about keeping my arms up in a brawl came in handy. The lollipop guild even got a few licks in. You taught us how to fight and then you came for us. Job well done soldier.”  

Steve shuddered, closing his eyes against the image of his children trapped in the middle of that madness. Good licks gotten or otherwise. _It’s still not safe_. He’d left them too long. He needed -

His thoughts scatted like kicked marbles as Tony cradled his face once more and pressed in close so that they were slotted together, breathing in each other’s air. He felt Tony shiver despite the hot heat seeping in from where his chest, arms and groin pressed against Steve. Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he was the one shivering and maybe it was his heat Tony was soaking up. Or maybe it was both, the chill deep in both their bones driving them close and closer together to share one continuous cycle of brightly burning heat. It was just proof wasn’t it? They were stronger together than apart.

“It’ll be alright.” He heard himself say, for the first-time half believing it could be true. His hand flittered over Tony’s neck, feeling the fluting pulse underneath his fragile skin. “Just take a deep breath. Stay with me, Stark.”

He’d held men before. Held them together when their insides were falling out (sometimes all too literally) and told them to keep breathing. He said it now, for them both, like he would for any of his men, but he couldn’t manage the delusion that he meant it in the same way.

Tony’s huff of laughter was watery but he nodded slowly in agreement. Good, Steve thought with relief. This was good. Now-

“We need to get back. The children –” Steve had already let go, the entirety of his focus shifting to getting down to the music room as quickly as possible. He had to go. Had to see. But Tony still held his hand and hadn’t budged forcing him to stop when their arms pulled tight.

“Need their sleep.” Tony interjected, squeezing his hand encouragingly. “Take a breath Stefen. There’s no reason to charge in there like bulls. We’ll go slow and steady and you’ll be glad you didn’t wake them unnecessarily when you see that they are fine where you left them.”

Steve knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the fear creeping up inside of him. Still he did as Tony asked, taking a few more deep breathes before nodding his readiness. Tony opened the door and Steve stepped over the threshold, holding himself back to let Tony catch up even though the urge to get to the music room was still pricking at his skin like needles. Tony brushed his hand briefly against his in encouragement but thankfully he did not force them to linger any longer than that.

~~*~T~*~~

November 11th Morning

The house felt quieter than a tomb to Tony as he walked into the dining room that morning, expecting to find the children already sat down for breakfast. They were all there. Dressed and ready for another day. If one didn't know any better, it would be hard to believe what they had been through just days before.

The table was too still and too full of glum faces. Artur was not chattering the way he usually did. Ian was staring listlessly into his bowl of oats while James leaned against his side; neither boy seeming to notice nor to care about their close proximity. Natacha was silently trying to spoon the hot oats into Sara's mouth, but the little girl kept shaking her head stubbornly until her sister gave up - no energy to fight. Maria sat beside her silent and glassy eyed, holding her spoon but not making any effort at eating. Tony's heart twisted painfully in his chest, taking in their state.

"Good morning Children," he greeted them gently, rethinking his plans to go and visit the abbot that morning. He knew why he had to take the mission, but there was still time before they had to be in Dachau.  Maybe the children needed him more.  He doubted very much that their father was capable right now of paying much attention to the state they were in, or would know what to do about it even if he was.

The bitter thought sat heavy in Tony's stomach and he grimaced. To be fair (and why did it always feel so important to be fair) Tony didn't have the first clue how to help them either. What did you even say after the things that they had witnessed. It's alright? It wasn’t. It won't happen again? It would. You'll be fine? Maybe they wouldn’t be.

There were no guarantees. The only way anyone could assure that something like what had happened that awful night didn't happen again, was if the Reich was taken down. Tony could help with that by going to Dachau and rescuing the resistance members before their execution, making sure the information they carried got into the right hands.

"We're not going to have lessons today I think," he announced to them as he took his usual seat. His announcement wasn't met with any enthusiasm or much acknowledgement at all. Only Artur bothered to look at him, the little boy nodding slightly as his shoulders drooped. He took a fast hitching breath like he might start sobbing and Tony tensed, relieved when no tears came.

Maybe he really should stay. Perhaps the return of routine would be helpful? Wasn’t that what people were always saying, that children required structure?

He was saved momentarily from his indecision as Bakhuizen strode into the room through the serving door, snow still clinging to his ulster coat and the fur lined hat he wore, fresh from travel.

"Uncle Bucky!" several voices cried out at once. James leaped up from his seat, toppling his chair over as he rushed to hug the weary looking man around the knees, clinging like a barnacle. Ian quietly righted the fallen chair and then joined his siblings as they gathered around their uncle.

Tony was glad to see Bucky back safe after the horror of the pogroms. They'd stretched all over the Reichland, from Salzburg to Berlin. Anything could have happened to him out there; but that just made Péter's absence at his side all the more noticeable and Tony's chest tightened with dread, certain that them not having entered together meant that Bucky had not been able to find him.

"There was a mob! They tried to get us when we were at the music hall but Tony made us hide in the cellar." James was recounting rapidly for Bucky, his hands clinging to the man's coat. " I didn't cry though. Well only a little bit but Ian cried too!"

Ian shot his brother a mildly irritated look but it lacked any real poison. Bucky stooped enough to hug James tight, pressing his nose into the boy's red lochs and inhaling deeply, as if he needed the scent of him.

"You smell like smoke." Natacha pointed out, quiet and low, one pale hand gripping his coat sleeve, her blue eyes fraught with worry.

"The whole city smells like smoke." Bucky grunted in answer and Natacha flinched. Bucky swiveled his hand to grasp her wrist, gentle but firm.

" _Gula chava_ , I'm alright. I ran into some trouble, but it was nothing I can't handle, yeah?" He smiled at her confidently, prompting her to smile weakly in return and squeezed her hand once more before letting go.  "I worried you’d get caught in that mess. Thank God you're all alright."

"What about Péter?" Natacha asked, almost on a whisper. "What about him?"

"Yes, when is Péter coming home?!" Artur demanded, lip jutting out in a teary eyed pout and Tony held his breath.

"He'll be back soon Chavo. Don't worry yourself about it." Bucky patted the boy's cheek before he looked up at Tony, the smile quickly bleeding out of his eyes, revealing his worry and exhaustion. "Where's Steve?"

~*~

He didn't learn it until after the children had finished their meal and Bucky had emerged from Stefen's office a few hours after, but Tony had been right. Bucky had not found Péter.

It was Charlotte who brought the news, and that just seemed like adding salt to injury.

Tony had just gotten the children settled into their rooms for a few quiet hours of play and was looking for Harold for a ride into town when he spotted the baroness sitting alone in the sitting room. The radio played a news report in the background. She had paper an and pen in her lap, clearly meant to be writing a letter but her eyes were focused somewhere distant. She looked deceptively small in the big backed chair, a delicate flower in an elegant day dress, plucked from the vine and deposited into the cold lonely room. Tony's steps faltered as he passed the parlor door, hating himself a little for the moment of empathy when she looked up, startled by the sound of his footsteps and locked eyes with him.

"Good morning Herr stark." She greeted him softly, her pink lips tilting toward a small smile. "Or is it afternoon already? I confess, I've lost track of the time."

"It's nearly noon." Tony answered, because it would have been rude not to. He could be civil.

"Are you going somewhere?” she asked, eyes flicking to the coat slung over his arm. "I have a letter I need dropped off at the post office if you're willing."

Tony nodded jerkily and she rose, quietly folding the letter into a cream colored envelope and scribbling an address on the front in her delicate handwriting. She crossed the room in a cloud of soft perfume to hand it to him and Tony took it wordlessly.

"I have several friends I thought might be of help in locating Péter. James says he bought three tickets for Poland at the station in Vienna. No one knows if he and his companions made it there." Cold creeped like ice through Tony's stomach, anger and bitterness fading to the background in the face of his worry. Worry mirrored on Charlottes face. He'd forgotten, perhaps in his selfishness, that Charlotte wasn't just some stranger their father intended to marry. She was their mother's cousin. True family.

"I'm sure he's on his way home. Traveling must be -" Tony's throat constricted, making it hard to continue what sounded like meaningless platitudes even to him.  Péter had been outside in all of that. On the wind with no one to help or guide him during one of the bloodiest nights since war time. They’d given it a name for god’s sake.

"I'm sure he found someplace safe to wait things out. He's a clever boy. From good family." Charlotte amended hollowly, and Tony was sure she was thinking the same thing he was. A clever boy alone. With dark hair and dark eyes. A brave boy. A boy who did not stand idly by.

"He'll come back." Tony repeated for his own sake as much as hers.  Charlotte smiled thinly at him.

"It should make me feel better hearing that from a man of God. Shouldn't it?" She chuckled under her breath, admitting wryly before she turned away, “Then again. I never found much comfort in religion."

~*~

There was an unexpected feeling of nostalgia for Tony as he walked onto the grounds of saint Péter's.  He'd never been overly fond of the abbey but he had spent twenty years of his life behind its walls he reasoned as his feet crunched over the snow covering the cloister.  Even on a cold day in early winter there were monks walking about, braving the wind and chill in their robes, looking like stalwart penguins as they walked to and fro in small clusters.

He saw more than a few curious glances and expressions of surprised recognition as he made his way toward the Abbots office.  Nobody had expected him to return here, Tony thought with distant humor. He couldn't blame them for that assumption.

Tony recognized the face of Tiberius Stone among a cluster of brothers making their way toward the library and saw the way the man's eyes widened at the sight of him.  He offered the monk a wordless salute as he marched by, and if there was a swagger in his step so be it. He was free of this place, he reminded himself. And a better man for it, no matter what people like Tiberius thought.

~*~

"Let me get this straight," Abbot Farkas leveled Tony with a hard look, one furious black brow raising skeptically as he regarded Tony carefully, who was pacing the length of his office. "You want my help infiltrating a prison camp, to liberate a pair of criminals?"

"They aren't criminals," Tony interjected. "Not any more than the brothers are criminal anyway. I know you organized their release -"

"Through the proper channels of diplomacy and negotiation with the third Reich." Farkas road over him, tapping a blunt finger against his oak desk, the sound echoing in the room.  "Our negotiations with the Führer are on shaky ground as it is. Do you know how many clergymen are currently imprisoned at that camp?""

“Come on Nik, you and I both know the Führer is never going to bow to pressure from the Vatican. He's going to continue to give you table scraps until he feels he has enough power to tell you exactly where to shove all your pretense at piety. Haven't you heard? He's God's chosen leader. The new religion. He's only biding his time."

Farkas didn't respond to the tirade. He leaned back in his chair, and continued to observe Tony thoughtfully withy his one eye.

"You're reminding me a lot of your father right now," the abbot murmured and Tony glowered at him.

"Don’t think insulting me is going to distract me. You think you can win here by playing the system? You can't. You saw what they did. They hosed up the blood, but they’re still clearing the glass off the street.”

Tony swallowed his throat constricting as his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. It was a second before he could go on. “They’re all gone Farkas. I’m the last Jew left in Salzburg, all because my name is Stark. I think about them… How I sat in privilege, blinding myself to every sign that it was coming. It's blood on my hands. On all of us. I don’t fear God’s judgment. But I know I’m accountable for their fate either way.”

Farkas sighed, wiping a tired hand over his face.

"And now you sound like your mother. They always hoped you'd be the best of them you know."

Tony had no idea what to say to that and no intention of touching that statement with a ten-foot pole. He knew Farkas was making his decision so he just waited.

“I’ve got conditions” Farkas finally said, and that didn’t surprise Tony in the least.

“Such as?” he prompted and the abbot squared his shoulders, answering just as promptly.

“One: you bring Brother Banner with you when you leave and see that he makes it safely to Engelzell Abbey with the other brothers.”

Tony rolled his eyes rather than respond, because that was just the throw away condition and they both knew it. Tony would never have left Bruce to face the retaliation of the Gestapo after their heist.

“Secondly, I want you to take Barton with you.”

“Come again?” Tony blinked at the man in befuddlement. “Did I just hear you say that you want me to take a child on my treasonous mission to jail break a Nazi prison?

“Clinton is resourceful and far more practiced at this sort of thing than you Tony. The boy has led a harder life than you know.” Farkas insisted quietly, and Tony heard what he didn’t outright say. Clint was a child of the street who had learned to fight in order to survive. Not a pampered idealist playing at heroism like Tony.

His expression must have given away the bent of his thoughts because Farkas frowned disapprovingly as if he’d heard them.

“More to the point. I’d like you to secure a spot on whatever transport Captain Rogers has arranged for Richter and the others. I made Clinton’s brother a promise many years ago that when he came of age I’d see he made it back to his uncle in France. The way things are right now, I don’t know if he’ll have another chance.”

Tony swallowed the bitter anger that had swelled up within him; in the face of getting the boy out of Nazi reach and hopefully out of whatever spy game Farkas was entrenched in what choice did he have? They boy deserved a shot at a normal life, away from the madness.

“Alright.” Tony finally agreed. He wondered if they’d regret it. Just because a boy learned to fight, did that mean they had a right to ask him to?

"I've got a feeling I’m going to regret this." The abbot sighed, rising slowly from his chair. Tony followed him as Farkas left the room, eyebrows arching upward in silent surprise as he recognized the route the abbot was leading him on. It led towards the abbot’s private quarters, a place Tony had never been allowed to go before.

Tony had never been inside Farkas's rooms before though he was almost as intimate with the abbot’s office as he was the single room he'd shared with the other novices.

"You're actually going to let me in. I thought this place was off limits?" Tony commented as they reached the door and Farkas pinned him with his good eyes. "Not off limits, just did my best to keep it Stark free. A man needs to find his sanctuary somewhere."

Tony smirked.

"I’m beginning to think you really do care."

The abbot paid no attention to him, entering his bedroom in a swirl of dark robes and ushering Tony inside. He crossed the stone floor without lingering and opened a drawered in the wardrobe in the corner.  Tony followed, peering over his shoulder curiously as Farkas sorted through a pile of boring folded clothing, but his mouth fell open in surprise when the abbot withdrew a pair of brilliant scarlet robes, unmistakably the dress of a cardinal.

"Do I even want to know why you have those?" he squeaked and Farkas gave him a stern look as he placed the folded garments within Tony's arms.

"No. I'm going to write to Cardinal Rossi and let him know that I am unable to accompany him to the prison until the following week.  Unbeknown to anyone, you're going to get the bright idea to impersonate him and show up at the agreed time and place, with stolen papers. If you get caught we never had this conversation."

"Naturally,” Tony immediately agreed.

"How many extra robes will you need?" Farkas asked, frowning slightly when Tony held up three fingers. "There are only two brothers Rossi is expecting to collect. We claim that it was three, that is one thing. Five is a risk."

"From what I know about what they're doing at Dachau, it's a bigger risk to leave Leshnerr and Richter in the hands of the Nazis." Tony returned. His gaze sharpened on Nik when the abbot showed no surprise a or curiosity about his remark. He didn't so much as try to pull information out of Tony, and with Farkas that meant either he was playing some game to get Tony to volunteer it, or he already knew. Tony hedged his bets on the latter.

"Did you know about the experiments? " He asked, staring hard at Farkas. "Just how close are the Germans to creating the perfect soldier?"

Farkas steepled his fingers together, observing Tony stoically for a moment as if he were looking under his skin, before he decided to answer.

"Our intelligence has reported some small success with narcotics and stimulants. Their research into genetic mutation has yielded little besides agonizing death for their test subjects." Tony could hear the but in his tone before he said it. "But there was a small breakthrough a few months back.  A pair of subjects who responded better than most, and survived the initial round of testing when no one had before... It's hard to even know what to tell you. The things we've heard defy all imagination. It's almost enough to make a man question where God is in any of it."

Tony shivered. He knew somehow, that Wanda and Pietro were the subjects he was talking about. The ones who had survived whatever Frankenstein experiment the Nazis had subjected them to, who had done things that made them believe that men could become something more than human.

"Do you actually believe in God?" Tony scoffed. "I've always wondered. Surely you of all people Nik know better than to believe that some divinity means to get in the way of how well we destroy one another?"

Farkas arched a dark brow at him speculatively, not rising to the bait.

"There's a lot in the book about gods and monsters, Antony. I’ve seen enough to know the monsters are real. Why not the gods?” Nik replied with a sort of nonchalance that didn’t suggest he was a holy abbot, confessing he had any sort of doubts about the existence of god. “I believe that there is a force of good that rises up to fight the battles that we can't fight on our own. That belief, that hope… men need that. Even men like you Stark.”

“And when there’s not? What happens when people inevitably realize their savior is a myth?” Tony challenged.

“There are few things with more power than a myth.” Farkas leveled him with an intense look, holding him in place with his stare. “It’s not the name, Stark, but the legend behind it. Hughard understood that. He told me he believed you would change the world. Change the war.”

The words floored Tony. He had no reply for them, unable to wrap his head around the fact that his father, the man who had constantly threatened to disinherit him and send him to the abbey in exile, had ever said such a thing about him. Tony, change the world? He’d been hiding in a cellar, terrified for his life like a cornered rat only days ago.  No way Hughard had ever said anything like that about him, but he wouldn’t put it past Farkas to say he did. Just to manipulate him.

“I can understand why you might have a hard time believing that,” Farkas continued, once more seeming to read his mind. His voice remained soft and intent, his eyes boring deeply into Tony like they sought to burn the words on his soul.

“But from where I sit it looks like you’ve got all the tools to do it."

~*~

_People need hope. Even men like you._

The abbot’s words had not left Tony as he left St Péter's abbey. The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the mountains, the streets were not as clogged as they usually were at this time of day. It could have been the empty shops and apartments looking like old men with sunken eyes, but it could just as easily have been the cold weather.  There were more cars than people, zipping through the streets as they carried men home to their dinners. Only a few brave souls had ventured out on foot it seemed, and Tony was one of them.

He spotted a trio of boys on patrol, their uniforms standing out in the grey weather, their batons catching the dying light as they swung them idly, in an unspoken threat at odds with their good cheer and boisterous laughter. To think, only a few nights before he’d watched those same batons beat the backs of the innocent, driving them out of their homes like cattle and pushing others into death. Tony’s stomach wound tight with tension but he forced himself to continue his walk at a steady pace.

As Tony drew closer he recognized Harry Osborne and the Drake brothers. He wondered if Harry’s mother helped him wash the blood out of his uniform after that night or if he’d done it himself.

There were still police patrolling the streets quite heavily, and the boys in Hitler’s Youth were just as active in the aftermath as they had been in the pogrom.  Now that the Jews were gone they were standing guard over the empty properties to fend off looters. Because of course, the state was concerned that any wealth left behind should be collected to strengthen the Reich.

Robert spotted him first and gave Tony a polite nod of recognition. Harry bid him good evening. Johan twisted to see who had caught the other’s attention and quickly gave up interest with a bored sneer when he recognized who it was.

Tony nodded stiffly in reply and continued on his way, in no mood to risk being stopped for a neighborly chat. He grit his teeth and wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill as he quickened his step.

_They’re all gone. You’re the last one._

The thought whispered insidiously inside of his head like the snake must have whispered to Eve. And trust Farkas to get under his skin like this, have him thinking about and twisted up over old stories and myths that amounted to nothing.

_There are few things more powerful in the world than a myth._

The words reverberated in time to the crunching of his footsteps. Salzburg’s streets were still covered in glass. Every step seemed to mock him.

 _Off you go. Off you go to Dachau_.

Sneak in. Sneak out. Like a whisper. Like a god damn apology. All to rescue a handful of innocent men. And then what? What about all the others?

_What about all the ones you could have saved?_

He had to stop thinking about them. Had to accept that they were gone – many dead – and that his hands weren’t any cleaner than those boys with their batons. Not when he’d _known_ and done nothing. No when he’d spent his whole life running away from it.

Tony stopped abruptly, his heart pounding behind his rib cage, glass grinding beneath his heels.

No more running.

Teeth gritted, a barely repressed snarl twisting his mouth, he knelt to the ground, balancing his weight on his heels as he crouched to pick up a small shard of glass from the surrounding particles. He held it in his hand, and thought deeply, plans running through his mind like quicksilver.

_Steel. 234.55 mm in circumference. 74 mm in diameter. Thin but sturdy. Not steel?  A lighter alloy. Yes. If it was lighter he could make a mesh. Better for fragmentation. Fragments. Glass. Combine with sulfur, glycerin, and ammonium nitrate._

Hughard had believed Tony could change the world. Apparently.  But Tony would never have a chance to ask his father if what the abbot had said was true. It didn’t matter, he realized. It didn’t matter what Hughard Stark had believed or didn’t believe. What mattered was that Tony believed.

He could change the world. The war. He couldn’t save those poor people, but he could sure as hell avenge them.

The key was right there in his hand.

~*~*~*~

_November 15 th, 1938_

They'd gone over the plan over and over again before Tony and Bucky set out for Dachau. They left Stefen and the family spreading the story that Tony was tending to a sick aunt and would be back within a week. Tony was to meet Bucky at the station in Munich where he was to take on the identity of the cardinal and Clint his assistant.  Simple work. Not dangerous in the least, except for the fact that they could never be sure if any of their correspondence with the others involved had been intercepted, decoded, and some sort of trap set for them.

Stefen was loath to let Tony go, nearly changing his mind and insisting they call the whole thing off several times the night before he was to set out. In truth, Tony was loath to be let go. He was no less determined and no less sure that the mission was his duty, and he the best one to see it through - but he could not say he wasn’t frightened of death.

He was. But being alive could hold horrors not even death could match, and living with himself if he continued to do nothing was one of them.

_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, my heart shall fear no evil._

Every mile that stretched between home and Munich seemed to crawl by. Tony found himself emptying his head of all thought the only way he knew how, which was to focus on his memories.

Memory was a tricky thing. Tony could recall every verse from a book he hated just as clearly as he could recall the last time he'd seen Natacha genuinely smile.

October the twenty seventh, somewhere after eight in the evening. He'd taken her hand for a dance.

Only then his anxiety would intrude in the form of memories that refused to be pushed to the back of his mind.

The miles continued to crawl by.

~*~

Tony changed into his robes in the washroom of the station, covering their vibrant red with a dark coat as not to draw unwarranted attention to himself.  The station seemed uncommonly busy for a morning in midweek. Everywhere he looked there were people with trunks, trying to leave the city. Many of them he noticed bore the star of David stitched upon their sleeves.

It appeared that after the Knight of Glass that those Jews who had not been arrested and taken away were trying to flee Germany all at once. Judging by the long lines and raised voices clogging the station with bodies and noise, they didn't appear to be having much success.

"Tony!" a familiar voice called from Tony's left. It was followed by a sharp whistle and Tony turned his head, finally catching sight of Clinton. He’d climbed on top of a wooden crate for a better view and was waving vigorously with one hand to catch Tony's attention.  Bucky was standing beside him, looking jumpy. He made something like an apologetic grimace at the passerby who had turned to look and yanked Clint down from the crate.

With their hair neatly trimmed and slicked back, the both of them cleaned up nicer than Tony ever would have expected.  Bucky had borrowed Hogan’s best coat, and looked the part of a distinguished driver, while Clinton could have given any of the dewy-eyed cloister boys Tony had met in his youth a run for their money. Neither of them looked at all like they’d spent the wee hours of the morning docking a boat on the muddy shores of the river amper, the way that Tony knew they had.

"You should start calling me Rossi, or better yet Cardinal." Tony scolded the little imp under his breath when he was certain he was close enough that no one else would overhear. "What if one of the police were watching?"

Bucky's eyes flickered toward the nearest armed officer, who was looking admittedly very bored watching the people hustle around him, each of them giving him a noticeably wide berth. Clinton laughed, all white teeth and wide smirk.

"Oi, that shithead fell asleep standin up six minutes ago.  I've got my eye on all of ‘em, don't worry so much Tony."

“Let’s get moving.” Bucky growled as Tony opened his mouth to respond. He set off toward where a sleek Blitz truck was parked, leaving Tony and Clint to scramble behind him. Tony wondered how he’d explain Cardinal Rossi arriving in such a beast, but thought better of asking. Bucky wouldn’t answer, and Tony wasn't about to give him any more ammunition for grumbling. He’d think of something. Tony always thought of something.

When they reached the vehicle Tony paused, waiting, thrusting a hand out to grab Clint and hold him back as well. Bucky had already opened the driver’s door and climbed halfway inside when he noticed Tony and Clint weren’t moving.

“What’s the matter?” he snapped, eyes flicking about for unnoticed danger.

“A cardinal would never open his own door.” Tony pointed out solemnly and the other man’s brow twitched in irritation. Wordlessly he came around and yanked open the passenger side door.

“You’re too kind.” Tony thanked him with a small nod, ducking quickly inside in order to hide the small smile he couldn’t help as Bakhuizen grumbled under his breath and shut the door hard behind him.

Tony watched in the rearview as Clint hoisted himself up over the side and into the back, mouth spreading into a mischievous smirk when he caught Tony’s eye through the back window.

“Not a cheerful fellow, is he?” he called out, loudly enough to carry through the window.

“He grows on you.” Tony replied with a loose shrug. “like an exotic species of mold.”

“Alright, quit yammering and listen.” Bucky demanded as he slid inside the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut behind him. He popped open the glove compartment and fished around, finally drawing out an increasingly familiar set of hand drawn pistols.

“They won’t let me in with you, so one of you better be armed. I already know Stark shoots like a little girl. How about you, can you shoot?” Bucky ignored Tony’s offended huff altogether to question Clint bluntly. The boy rolled his eyes and tapped a finger bluntly on the glass.

Tony reached to flip the latch and pushed the window out as far as it would go on its hinges.

“I can hit a bullseye upside down with me eyes closed. Every time.” Clint replied, sticking his lean upper body through the open space.

Bucky arched his eyebrows incredulously, and looked to Tony, his expression disbelieving. Tony shrugged explaining, “He traveled with a circus before he came to the abbey.”

“You mean before Barney just dumped me there, like I was yesterday’s garbage?” Clint added sullenly, leaning further to snatch one of the pistols from Bucky’s offered hand.

“Careful with that! It’s loaded.” Bucky hissed.

“He wanted better for you.” Tony assured Clint by route, the same assurances he’d heard for more than half his life, and that he knew damn well wouldn’t make any real headway against the feeling of abandonment.

“You’re only sayen it. You don’t really know.” Clint grumbled. He pulled up his robe as if he were going to stuff the gun down his drawers and Tony waylaid him with a firm hand against his chest and a shake of his head.

"Here," he said, thrusting the small suitcase he’d brought against Clint’s chest, the boy’s arms coming up in instinctively to hold it. "They're going to check us for weapons and before you blow the family jewels try this. Trust me it is better."

"They're going to check your briefcase Stark." Bucky pointed out, impatience in the bark of his tone.

"Yes, and they'll find nothing but stacks of papers.  The important thing is they'll never find this." Tony ran his fingers gently along the side s of the case, trailing over the decorative knobs that lined the side, searching for the right one.  And there. He pressed the button hidden in plain sight and grinned as the font of the case flopped open, revealing the hidden compartment.

“Oi, that’s amazing.” Clint breathed in awe, fiddling with the sides of the case to find the button Tony had pushed. He quickly lost interest when it didn’t immediately present itself and began digging through the contents of the compartment. Tony had packed a few thin blankets, a torch, a few copper wires, a line of string soaked in fat and two unassuming steel balls with the name Stark engraved upon their sides. But predictably Clint’s eyes immediately locked on the most dangerous thing within the case, which was a small metal canister similarly engraved.

“What’s this?” Clint asked, bringing it close to his nose to sniff. “Why does it smell like bacon?”

"It's ingenuous, isn't it?” Tony asked, hoping to distract him as he gingerly plucked the metal can out of the boy’s hand. " I designed it myself. I'm calling it the Stark Safe.  Of course, you can use it to carry any valuables, not just weapons."

You could also, coincidently, use it to carry the highly combustible explosives you’d made; but that was a selling point Tony felt it was better to leave out for the time being. No need for anyone to get nervous.

"It's going to be useless if we sit around in the open talking about it." Bucky snatched the little canister from Tony’s hand before he could stop him, his heart lurching in his chest as the other man tossed it unceremoniously back into the case and shut it with an angry click.

“Christ, be careful!” He barked and Bucky turned to him, jabbing a blunt finger painfully into his chest.

"You both stick to the plan alright? Or so help me! You could get us all killed if you try and take things into your own hands like you're always doing with Stevie."

Tony raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I know the plan Bakhuizen, and I have no interest in -"

"Save it." Bucky interrupted with a growl, turning away from him to shove the key in the ignition and start the truck with a rumble.  "I know you Stark. I'm not Stefen. I don't want any of your tricks on my watch."

"My tricks? I'm not sure at all what you mean. Elaborate." Tony murmured in reply, amused despite himself. Bucky was a lot more like Stefen than he was giving himself credit for. Both of them got rather endearingly grouchy when things didn't quite go their way.

But even as he thought it Bucky went stiff, and where Stefen would have taken the bait and continued to argue with him, Bucky just stared at him, his eyes glittering dangerously, like he was considering slitting his throat.

"You batt your eyelashes at me again, and I'll skin your eyelids. Slurp them with my soup.” Was all he said before turning his eyes back to the road. Tony swallowed thickly and followed suit, though he couldn’t help casting the man a nervous glance or two. Even Clint kept his mouth shut. Bucky's tells were much harder to read than Stefen's and he looked altogether too serious about that threat.

"It won't take us long to get there."  Bucky broke the stiff silence after ten minutes or so, when the city finally gave way to hills and country roads. " You remember the plan?"

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just.

"As I've reminded you and Stefen both, what seems like dozens of times, I have an excellent talent for recall."

"I don’t care.” Bucky snapped. “If I had my way you’d have this plan drilled so far down in your head it’s deeper than instinct. Because when things go to shit and you're staring down a gun, instinct might be all you have. "

Huh. Tony observed the man with a considering eye. Bucky 's mouth pulled back in a grimace.

"What?" he groused. And there, Tony thought. He could see it now. The way he grit his teeth, and clenched and unclenched his hands around the steering wheel. It was so easily mistaken for temper, but it was just there to disguise how uncomfortable he was. But was it Tony’s proximity or the way in which Tony was staring at him? Perhaps both.

"It's just that, one could make the mistake of thinking you wanted me to survive this escapade unscathed. I'd have thought the exact opposite given all your glaring and snapping." Tony gestured to the whole of Bucky's person as an example and the ex-soldiers face darkened once more with irritation.

"Steve asked me to make sure you make it back, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Understand? Now quit stalling. Tell me the plan." he demanded and Tony sighed, expression stating that he rested his case.

Either way he complied and Bucky seemed content with that.

“The prisoners release was organized through Commandant Lachmann.” He began to recite. “We have papers from him but there will be a discrepancy between their copy and ours. The head of the political department, Unterstumfuhrer Grabnder, will be overseeing the hand off; but if he keeps to pattern he will have passed the task off to his henchman, Warden Johaness. Chief lieutenant Wolfe is his underman and also our man on the inside...”

~*~*~

Dachau was an intimidating complex by any stretch of the imagination. The camp sat alone, parked at the edge of the river and surrounded by tall stone walls with guard towers strategically placed so that visitors could be seen approaching from all sides. There were five buildings in the main part of the camp, the medical ward being the largest and most imposing of the bunch.  There were bars on the window of the tall building. It was the only one who sported such a feature.

"Some prisoners get the idea that they can escape justice with a quick fall."  The firm and low voice of Warden Johannes drew Tony's raptured gaze away from the medical ward.

He and Clint had been received at the front gates of the camp with minimal fanfare by a man who had introduced himself as the warden, along with Lieutenant Wolfe. The two soldiers flanking them had remained unintroduced. 

Tony was still drinking in all there was to see of the camp, the squat buildings that made up the barracks – both those meant for officers and those meant for prisoners – and the administrative building perched at the top of the pile like a king upon a throne. Throughout the yard there were dozens of prisoners in striped prison uniforms, watched closely by armed Gestapo. They appeared to be on their way to work assignments or either just returning - their faces streaked with dirt and heavy with misery.

They were all of them thin and worn, carrying the fatigue brought on by weeks of hard labor with little food to support them.

Tony noticed with horror tightening his stomach, that some of them bore the unmistakable signs of torture. Bruises, poorly healed gashes and the like. Scars built upon scars.

Only a few of them looked up with any curiosity at the visitors who had entered the camp, even though Tony's scarlet robes stood out among the grey in the center of the yard like a beacon. He forced his eyes away from the faces of the prisoners and back to the warden.

"No one can escape God's justice," he said, meeting the man's steely grey gaze. He hoped to God he sounded as pious as he was sure the real Cardinal Rossi must. "Not even men like us."

"Indeed." the warden snarled. "You of course understand why we will need to search you before you come any further?"

"I’m a man of peace. Men who carry weapons made for war inevitably find themselves forced into fighting them," Tony dismissed the Warden's false concern with an impatient wave of his hand the way he'd seen Hughard do whenever any subject he didn't like came up.

“Nevertheless Cardinal. I insist.” The warden sneered.

"You'll be quick I hope? The smell here is unpleasant." Tony wrinkled his nose, and it wasn't all for show. A distinct odor of sickness and unwashed bodies surrounded them. "What are those poor wretches over there building?"

He pointed to the place where a long rectangular frame was being erected, cement poured for a floor. A group of men nearby were laying bricks, not far from a large cement mixer that was slowly churning as dirt and sediment was shoveled into its mouth by a team of weary men with shovels.  Others were clearing the ground nearby - tilling up the soil and breaking up the rock underneath with rakes and pick axes to make way for another part of the structure.  His eyes landed on a skinny young man as his axe rose and fell, up and down, each tired swing looking wearier than the last - and still the young man persisted at the urging of the Krippo.

"It's to house the new furnace. It takes a lot to heat a camp this size, and winters cold already bites us."  The warden replied. It was a simple enough answer, and readily believable what with the soft snow drifting around them. This was the coldest November they'd experienced in quite a while.

But there was something secretive in the Wardens smile that gave Tony a chill, that had nothing to do with the sub temperatures outside.

The man was lying, Tony was sure, though he could not figure out why the Nazi's would lie about something so simple.  But he could tell by the placement of the structure alone that its purpose, no matter how massive, was not to heat the rest of the camp.

"Right. Can we hurry this along?"

The warden gestured impatiently to Wolfe who stepped forward to begin searching their belongings. Clint relinquished his briefcase to the unnamed soldier who reached for it with a hard stare, and Tony nearly kicked him. Now was not the time for posturing.

Once given the all clear, Tony and Clint were led into the camp up to the administrative building. They were smirked at and jeered at by a few of the Krippo they passed but most, Tony noticed seemed fine to completely ignore them.  A few nodded and lowered their eyes respectfully, hastily crossing themselves as if Tony were a scarlet vampire stalking their dark gloomy halls, and he did not know whether that relieved him or depressed him. Along the way they passed through a very noisy area full of barred cells holding men and women in plain clothes, yellow stars betraying that they were Jews. Some were siting in silence, drawing away in fear as the warden passed with his entourage, while others cried out in anger demanding to be released.  

"Why are these people here?" Tony asked, pausing before a cell that contained a group of frightened individuals with dirty faces, including a young man cradling a girl in a bloodied nightgown.

"Jews, rounded up in the riots. They should be hanged for what they caused, but the Reich is merciful. If they hand over their properties to pay for the damage and leave Germany post haste, their crimes will be forgiven."

"And if not?" Tony asked tersely, furious to learn that the Jews were being blamed for that night.

"Well then Dachau will be their new home." The Warden smiled as if Tony had told a joke and gestured for them to keep moving. They were led to a small cramped office guarded by a single guard, who saluted the warden and was promptly dismissed. Once he’d opened the door Tony could see the room was sparse, nearly bare, clearly not a space regularly used. It was an obvious power move, but Tony was grateful for it. Having time to set it up was one of the biggest obstacles to his plan for the bomb.

There were two thin men with gaunt faces sitting in chairs opposite the lonely desk. Despite their peckish looks they both sprang to their feet at first sight of Tony and Clint, crossing themselves and folding trembling hands as they greeted him with such profound reverence Tony almost took a step backward.

“Your Eminence. Praise be to God for his mercy.” One of the men grabbed Tony’s hand, his thin chapped lips rubbing against the skin of his knuckles as tears fell from his eyes.

“Sit down!” The warden barked and the two prisoners jumped, scurrying back toward their chairs.

“As you can see Cardinal, the prisoners Henrick Vogel and Franz Albrect are being returned to you by the grace of his Excellency the Führer in good condition.” The warden began the proceedings in a bored tone, the brothers of Engelzell already forgotten as he moved behind the desk. “Do you have their papers?”

Tony looked at Clint who sprang into action, opening the suitcase and fishing around for the stamped documents the abbot had given them. He handed them over to the Warden who barely looked at them before reaching for the pen sitting in the inkwell on the desk and scratching his signature.

 “I trust this will satisfy any remaining questions as to His Excellency’s devotion to God?”

“That all depends.” Tony replied with a delicate sniff, fighting for his equilibrium back. “I understand that Bruce Banner has been placed here as Chaplin.”

“That is so.” The warden acknowledged through clenched teeth.

“I will have an audience with him, to hear firsthand how he and the brothers from Engelzell have been treated here.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The warden replied smoothly.

“I’m afraid I insist.” Tony replied just as smoothly in return. “Do you expect His Holiness simply to accept your word? Or the word of men who would say anything to appease their captors and assure their release?” Tony asked, looking toward the two silent men who were gazing at their hands but no doubt drinking in every word of the exchange.

“We’ve not executed or maimed any of the priests serving sentences here. Not since the orders came down.” The warden insisted, frustration lacing his tone.

“I would hear it from Brother Banner. A free man and a man of God.”  Tony returned staunchly, holding the man’s stare.

Fire flashed through the Warden’s eyes and he opened his mouth – but at that moment, a harsh siren began to wail outside the single window, echoing like a distant shriek throughout the camp.

“What is that? What’s going on?!” Tony demanded, clutching dramatically at his chest like a frightened woman grasping her pearls as the Warden twisted sharply to get a look out the window and cursed.

"Wait here!" He commanded. "Keep guard Wolfe. If anything happens to them it’ll be on your head!”

He strode out the door in a rush, not waiting to see their reaction or hear any protest. Lt Wolfe. hovered outside the door, his rifle held loosely to his chest, until the warden had gone. As soon as he was out of sight, Tony got to work, snatching the briefcase from Clint’s hand and setting it carefully upon the bare desk.

"We must go. I arranged for some prisoners to access a weapons case. They have staged a coupe to buy you time.” Wolfe informed them quickly in a low voice.

“They’ll be subdued.” Tony pointed out, without looking up from his work carefully beginning to assemble the materials of the explosive.

“They accepted the risks. A chance at freedom is better than none.” Wolfe snapped back, brow furrowing as he took in what Tony was doing. “What is that?”

“This is a contingency plan, for when the poor fools you’ve convinced to use themselves as a diversion are all dead.”

And it was revenge, Tony thought privately. Swift brutal revenge in the form of thermal waves and fragments of glass.

Working as quickly as he could with such combustible materials Tony fed the rope through the top of the canister, sure to give it lots of lead. At the other end he set up the torch with the wires and the reinforced bulb, praying that his calculations were correct and it would create enough heat. Time would tell.

“Tony?” Clint prompted nervously from the door, a second before Wolfe hissed again for him to hurry.

“Done.” Tony exclaimed, hands shaking slightly in excitement as he jumped up. He followed the other four out the door, remembering the suitcase at the last moment and dashing back inside for it.

"Richter and Leshnerr are in the medical wing. Deurr should be feeling the effects of his unfortunate food poisoning by now.” Wolfe murmured out of the side of his mouth when Tony had caught up to them.  “As soon as he arrives you need to go. You can’t waste time."

Lt. Wolfe led them quickly and unceremoniously out of the administrative building to the medical ward, the sounds of rapid gunfire and shouts coming from the yard beating at their heels. As Tony and Clint walked through the doors behind him, the smell of blood and other bodily fluids rushed to meet them like a toxic cloud. Tony immediately covered the lower half of his face with his hand to block out the stench.

There were men in white coats everywhere, presumably tending to the men who filled the beds, taking notes on their clipboards under the heavy lights. The mechanical hum of machinery was loud, even under the groans and moans of the patients who filled the ward.

It looked like a regular medical ward To Tony at first glance, but a second glance revealed the curious details that hinted at the truth. There were no nurses with soft gentle voices, no doctors rushing to the sides of those who groaned cries for help, and far too many catatonic eyes staring into nothing, as if they had already given up life and were only waiting for their bodies to notice.

A man in a doctor’s coat with glasses and a sharp nose looked up as they came toward him, impatience in his step.

"What is it? We're very busy here." He snapped, eyeing Tony and his scarlet clad figure with distaste. "Wolfe, you must tell the warden I don't have time for these distractions. It interrupts my work!"

Tony's gaze moved past the doctor and landed on a skinny young man, probably no older than twenty, who was strapped to a bed nearby, needles and tubes protruding from his skin while a bright blue liquid was pumped into his veins. He stared blankly back at Tony, either unseeing or not enough presence to care. Tony shivered.

What sort of work was this? He wanted to ask the doctor, whose badge pronounced him the head of the ward. This was not the work of healers.

"Apologies, Herr doctor, but my orders are to provide the cardinal an audience with the chaplain. I was told he is here." Wolfe replied and the head doctor bristled up.

"Yes, he is here. Another distraction to my work and a disruption to my ward. How am I to run a proper laboratory if I am not allowed access to my own specimens?"

"You were told the priests were not to be used as test subjects." Wolfe snapped back with a frown.  "They were only to be treated by the chaplain until further notice."

"A mere monk?" the doctor sneered in reply, scoffing loudly. "It is insulting. How is my work to be taken seriously when a mere monk is given purview over me?"

"The priests are to be overseen by the chaplain until further word is given.” Wolfe repeated doggedly. “Those are our orders. You will obey them Herr Doctor or answer to the Commandment. Now where is the chaplain?"

The doctor scowled, jerking his head sharply. Tony followed the direction but almost missed Bruce, who was wearing one of the white lab coats instead of the robes Tony had seen him in every day for the greater part of two decades. Otherwise he was the same, a frumpy looking man of middle age whose hairline had begun to grey, and whose soft brown eyes were always young and sharp with intelligence.

He was standing at the bedside of a dark-skinned man along with two other men in lab coats. Tony was relieved to find that the trio fit the descriptions he’d been given of the two doctors, Leshnerr and Richter, as well as the prisoner Lucas Deurr.

Without waiting, Tony began making his way toward Bruce, Clint following closely at his heels.

“Brother Banner?” Tony tried to interject a question into his voice for appearances sake, but when Bruce looked up his worried eyes lightened with a smile. Tony smiled back.

“Your Eminence.”

Tony almost laughed outright. Bruce sounded like he was attempting to swallow an egg, using that title to address the same man he’d caught multiple times committing sodomy and a host of other sins.

“You look well enough. I will say that, but I would like to speak to you privately regarding how you’ve been treated since you’ve been stationed here.”  Tony announced as planned and Bruce, going right along with it gently nodded.

“Of course. But forgive me Your Em – ” Tony bit back a grin as Bruce struggled and ultimately decided on going with what he must feel was the lesser of two evils. “Forgive me Cardinal Rossi, but I’ll only need a moment more to treat this patient. Perhaps we can speak here?”

“You won’t feel pressured?” Tony asked, eyeing the other two men hovering nearby with a skeptical glance.

“Dr. Leshnerr and Dr. Richter are good men.” Bruce explained simply and some of the tension in Tony’s shoulders eased. They had everyone they needed. All they were waiting for was -

On cue an alarm began to wail throughout the camp. Everyone within the ward seemed to freeze simultaneously, until the spell was broken by two soldiers banging through the doors carrying a limp body between them.

Despite the dark blood covering the figure and his agonized groan of pain, the soldiers were brusque as they unceremoniously dumped him upon the nearest available bed. As the remaining doctors rushed to his bedside like flies the soldiers barked frantic orders for Wolfe to follow them. There was a prisoner revolt breaking out in the yard.

“Time to go I think.” Clint murmured lowly and Tony couldn’t agree more. Bruce and Dr. Leshnerr already had Lucas propped up between them, the large man still not quite able to support all his own weight but doing his best. The small group made their way as quickly and unobtrusively toward the doors as possible, counting on the distraction of the new patients pouring in.

But as they passed the bed of the man who had been brought in Bruce went stiff and stopped walking.

"That's Yonas, the priest from Lenze. " Bruce muttered, completely abandoning all thoughts of escape as he rushed toward the man, only pausing long enough to carefully shift Lucas' weight onto Leshnerr. Richter started when the other doctor jabbed him rudely with his elbow, prompting him to lend a shoulder to help carry the big man.

“Who’s Yonas?” Clint asked even as Leshnerr demanded lowly through his gritted teeth to know what the hell Bruce thought he was doing.

"I’ll get him. We’ll meet you at the exit.” Tony waved at the others to go as he turned to go after Bruce. “Bruce, we don't have time.” He hissed at the other man's back as he strode over toward the commotion and the bleeding man on the bed.

"Move! This man is a priest," Tony heard him bark, more command in his voice than he'd ever imagined his gentle friend was capable of. "You're not supposed to touch the priests!"

Tony watched as Bruce slapped away the hands of the doctor trying to inject him with fluid.

"We thought your meeting with the cardinal was urgent?" the Chief Doctor scoffed, looking none too happy with Bruce’s interference. "Were we supposed to leave him to bleed on the floor until you returned?"

Bruce ignored the man as he reached for a tray of tools one of the others was holding, snatching up a pair of scissors which he promptly began to use to cut away the injured man's clothing.

"Hold him still!" he barked as the man groaned and twisted beneath his hands.

One of the doctors moved to comply but the chief doctor slapped a hand against his chest to stop him and growled, "No. There are other injured. My staff does not have time to waste on a dying man. "

The Chief doctor gestured sharply toward the door which was opening once more as more injured trickled in, quickly sinking the medical ward into true chaos. Chaos that was meant to give them time to slink away unnoticed.

"Brother Banner, I really must insist we conclude our business. The place is in the middle of a revolt." Tony urged him quietly.

“Then by all means, get yourself to safety Your Eminence.” Bruce growled, green eyes flashing at him with a resolution filled to the brim with rage. “But I’m not leaving. Not until I’ve done what I can!”

Tony clamped his mouth shut and Bruce lowered his head, resumed his work on the dying man. Wordlessly Tony stepped closer, grabbing the man’s jerking limbs as he attempted to thrash against the pain as Bruce pried open the wound and dug inside with a pair of tweezers. His hands quickly grew slick with blood as he began to pull bullet fragments from the bloody wound on the priest’s chest.

_Holy Mary, pray for me_

_Saint Joseph, pray for me_

Despite his labored breathing the wounded man fiercely muttered the prayer. As his breathes began to rattle, bleary brown eyes sliding past Bruce, who continued to work on him, his eyes locked with Tony’s. They were wet with tears and full of desperation. His mouth gaped open, twitching uselessly around words he no longer had breath for.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, assist me in my last agony,” Tony finished for him, voice shaking as the man’s eyes slipped closed.

 _Adonay shomerekha Adonaytsillekha `al-yadh yemiynekha.  The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night._ _Yomâm hashemesh lo'-yakkekkâhveyârêach ballâyelâh._ _The Lord shall guard thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth and forever._

The words raced around and around Tony’s head like a storm, dragged up from somewhere deep in his soul until they felt like they’d burst out from behind his teeth in one long continuous shout.

“Tony!” Pain shot up Tony’s leg and he realized there were hands clenching his shoulder tightly, shaking him, a low voice barking urgently in his ears. Bruce. And the pain was on account of Clint kicking him hard in the shin.

“He’s gone.” Bruce informed him, gently but forcefully prying his hands away from where they were still holding the dead priest, still pressing down in an effort to keep him still. Bruce was giving him a strange look, full of sadness and pity that Tony didn’t understand.

“You lost your mind or somethin?” Clint questioned, pale brows arched dubiously. “What was that gibberish?”

Gibberish? Tony thought, before cold realization sunk in.  He’d been praying. Praying out loud in Hebrew where anyone could hear, in the middle of a Nazi prison camp.

“Latin. And we have to go. Now!” He barked, and thankfully this time Bruce did not protest. But a man in a white doctor’s coat standing nearby did.

“Wait. Wait a moment.” He called out in the kind of tone that said he was thinking deeply and only seconds from raising an alarm. He reached out to grab Tony’s arm but Tony jerked sharply away, pinning him with as ferocious a glare as he could muster.

“You dare lay your hand on God’s servant?”

The doctor didn’t seem quelled, and Tony tasted one moment of genuine terror as the man opened his mouth to start yelling, when suddenly the room exploded with sound – a horrendous boom of sound pressing on his eardrums as the floor trembled and lurched beneath their feet, all of the lights flickering and diming at once as outside the windows one side of the Administrative building exploded outward in a brilliant plume of fire and smoke, pelting debris against the medical building.

The ward filled with screams as men ducked for cover. Something big came hurling through a nearby window in a shatter of glass.

“Oh God” Bruce gaped, ducking slightly to cover his head as glass rained down and the shriek of alarms throughout the camp intensified.

“Let’s go!” Tony barked, grasping the other man’s arm as he dragged him and Clint toward the exit, heart pounding in relief turned exhilaration.

~*~

Getting to the gate unencumbered was surprisingly easy.  In the chaos following the explosion, nobody seemed to want to bother with Cardinal Rossi. They met up with the two doctors, Lucas Deurr and the brothers from Engelzell at the gate. All of them covered in the robes Tony had brought, waiting anxiously in front of the grim-faced gate Guard who was leveling a riffle threateningly at Leshnerr’s chest.

“What’s the delay here?” Tony demanded as he ran up, huffing for breath and trying to look suitably terrified and indignant.

“These men say they are with you Cardinal, but they don’t have papers.” The soldier at the gate explained, eyes flickering between Tony and the collection of robed men with bowed heads.

“Of course they are! They were to be released today.” Tony snapped, gesturing for the case which the man Lucas now held. Clint must have given it to him when he came back for Tony. Lucas quickly shuffled the case into his hands and Tony quickly rifled through it for the papers the warden had signed.

“Here! Now hurry up man, before we lose our lives in this godforsaken place!” he shoved the documents in the man’s face before his companion dutifully snatched them from Tony’s hand.

“Heads will roll if any harm comes to me!” he shrieked unnecessarily. The two soldiers examined the papers in a rush, their eyes continuously drawn back toward the camp where smoke and shouts continued to rise. Tony saw immediately the moment they decided not to risk delaying his exit with further questions.

The soldier waving the paper barked something harsh into his handheld transceiver and the gate began to creak open.

Outside the gate, Bucky was standing near the open door of the truck staring up at where smoke was rising above the prison walls.

“What the hell-” he began, but Tony cut him off, as he and the others more ran than walked through the opening gates as soon as there was space for them to do so.

“Driver _go_! Get us out of here!”

That seemed to snap Bucky out of it, his gaze locking on Tony and the others and doing a rapid count before he turned and leaped back into the driver’s seat of the truck. Tony ran around to the passenger’s side as the others piled into the open back.

They peeled away from the camp with a kick of dirt beneath the truck’s wheels. Bucky racing down the unpathed road like a bat out of hell.

Tony kept a fixed eye trained on the camp, growing smaller and smaller behind them, expecting Gestapo to come pouring out at any moment. Only when Dachau disappeared from view around a sharp bend did he allow himself to marginally relax.

In the back of the truck Clinton let out a whoop of victory and Tony’s eyes met Bucky’s in the driver’s seat briefly as they both grinned manically at each other. Had they really just done that?

“That explosion… holy shit. Was that you?” Bucky asked sounding dubious and hopeful all at once.

“Not bad for my first explosive, was it?” Tony grinned in answer.

He started when there was a violent thud against the back window, he turned to see that Clint had twisted halfway around, the rest of him still turned toward the road behind them where he was pointing emphatically with the hand not banging rapidly on the glass.

"Incoming! We got some fellas on our tail and they not happy!"

Tony immediately turned to look in the sideview mirror just in time to see an armored truck roar into view full of armed soldiers with rifles pointed in their direction. Oh damn. Damn damn damn damn -

His heart plummeted into his stomach just as the first few shots rang out, a bullet pinging against the side of the truck. There were more shots and Bucky shouted for the men in the back to duck just as the glass in the back window shattered noisily. Tony’s eyes flew to Bucky as the truck swerved violently, wondering desperately if he’d been shot, but a moment later Bucky righted them, cursing as he tried to see through the web of cracks in the windshield which now had a hole in the center.

"They're firing at us!" Dr. Richter cried out, sounding slightly panicked about it and Bucky, hands gripping tightly at the wheel as he pressed the gas to the floor hollered back, " Damn it, fire back at em!"

The pistol was in his suitcase, which Clint still had Tony thought wildly even as Bucky ordered him sharply to take the wheel. He didn’t give Tony any time to argue about it either, forcing the monk to lurch for it to keep them on the road as he wound his window down and twisted his torso to lean out it, heedless of the bullets whizzing past him to return fire.

“Damn it! Are you crazy?” Tony yelled, throat stinging as he grabbed the man’s shirt one handed and attempted to pull him back inside the safety of the truck. After a moment of resistance, Bucky slid back inside.

“I got one of the fuckers.” He growled, wresting the wheel away from Tony. “We need cover kid!”

Tony paled as he saw a flash of movement in the rearview. Behind him, Clint popped up from the back of the truck. With pistol pointed he let loose two rapid shots before dropping back down, quick as a mole back into its hole, blonde hair flashing and cheeks ruddy with exertion.

Miraculously, two men in the truck following them toppled off the back like sacks of flour and lay in the dirt unmoving. Unfortunately, their comrades didn't stop to check whether they still lived or not.

"Kid's a sharp shot. " Bucky confessed under his breath as if they weren’t in the middle of a life or death chase.

"Oi! We need to lose these guys. I've only got four more bullets." Clinton hollered, reaching through the gaping hole where the back window used to be to thump his hand poignantly against the back of their seat.

"I'm working on it!" Bucky hollered back.

"Work faster!"  Clint returned, ducking as more bullets pinged against the truck.

"Stark! There's more ammunition in the glove compartment." Bucky yelled at Tony who immediately ducked down to get the blasted thing open, hands shaking as he rifled around until he felt a long rectangular box that rattled when he grasped it.  He pulled it out, pausing only momentarily to wave it at Bucky who nodded in confirmation, before he reached back through the shattered window and handed the box to Leshnerr who was leaning up despite the gun fire to reach for it. He flinched hard when a shot punched through the metal wall of the truck, not far from where his arm was reaching. Erik cursed, the box dropping from his hands and spilling its contents all over the back of the truck.

"Oh fuck." Tony groaned. "We need to do something or we're all going to die."

"You’re probably right." Bucky agreed, swerving the truck so violently Tony was thrown against the passenger door. Christ! When he could right himself, he glanced quickly into the back of the truck, relieved to see that nobody had fallen out. The men in the back were all hunkered down, trying to make themselves as small as possible, but the soldiers chasing them were gaining ground and soon it wouldn't matter. They'd be sitting targets.

"You got any more tricks in that case of yours?" Bucky asked, a wild sort of roundness in his eye that made Tony think he was as close to panic as he ever got.  He could commiserate. In answer Tony turned around, praying he wasn't about to be shot and shimmied his way through the shattered back window.

He heard the fire of guns over the roar of the wind as it flip his hair around his ears, as well as each ominous thud and ping as they struck dirt and grazed the sides of the truck. Bucky continued to swerve and Tony fell into the back of the truck bed, jarring his shoulder painfully as he landed.

"You alright Tony?" he heard Clint call, though the boy wisely stayed curled low in his corner, stomach pressed to the bed of the truck. Tony nodded wordlessly in answer and inched his way toward his suitcase, which thankfully hadn't been thrown out of the truck and was resting near Bruce's feet.

Every inch seemed to last a mile. He extended his arm as far as he could, grappling for the dark handle just as another shot rang out and the truck lurched dangerously. Bucky's cry of pain rang loudly in his ears, drowned out by the thudding of Tony’s own heart.

Shit! Tony thought, as the truck careened dangerously off of the dirt road.  No more time to waste.

He yanked the case toward himself and fumbled for the secret knob, popping open the secret compartment as quickly as he could. He reached inside for one of the twin silver grenades. He hadn't wanted to use these, as they were designed with significantly less delay time than the bomb and therefor carried a much higher chance of blowing them all sky high if his engineering was even the slightest bit off - but since he was pretty sure that their driver had just been shot and they were about to crash in a fiery wreck (if they didn’t get shot through like swiss cheese before they crashed) well, here goes nothing.

Tony yanked off the safety clip and pulled the pin, carried by furious adrenaline and blind panic, not thinking about getting shot or falling from the truck as he rose up - just far enough to take aim, and throwing the damn thing before it could explode in his hand.

“Take cover!” he had just enough presence of mind to shout as he fell back down, hitting the truck bed hard just as the explosion blasted painfully in his ears. He threw his hands protectively over his head as dirt and debris rained down over them, shards of steel and glass striking the sides of the truck loudly.

Even crouched with his arms over his head, Tony felt fragments digging into his skin and heard a low hiss of pain come from the from the others. But there was nothing he could do about it as they continued to bump and lurch over the terrain until finally the truck began to slow and came to a jolting halt almost twenty yards from the road.

It was a moment or two before Tony could trust the stillness ringing in his ears enough to pry his eyes open.  The two monks from Engelszell lay close together, one passed out and the other muttering prayers and crossing himself as he clutched his comrade tightly to him. Bruce was uncurling from where he'd thrown himself on top of Clint, blinking rapidly and peering around them cautiously.  Lucas and Richter had been thrown up against the side of the truck, and Leshnerr was sitting up nearby, blinking through the trickle of blood oozing from a red gash on his forehead.

"Is everybody alright?" Erik asked through a harshly panted breath. He must not be too terribly injured then Tony thought, gratefully. He was the first to risk siting all the way up and looking back at the road. Nobody shot at him and when Tony was far enough up to see why, he nearly sagged in relief.

The truck full of soldiers was sticking half out of a deep crater, nothing but a burning ruin behind them where great plumes of dark smock was rising from the wreckage.

"God have mercy," Bruce gaped in awe, slowly rising behind Tony and staring at the sight with a dropped jaw. “What did you throw at them, a grenade?"

Precisely. Tony thought, but a groan from the inside the truck sent his heart racing again and he scrambled to hop out of the truck bed, calling Bucky's name.

"James? Damn it Bahkizen!  Are you-" Tony grunted as he wrenched open the driver's door and Bucky nearly fell out on top of him.

"Jesus Stark! Warn a guy." Bucky cursed as his weight fell against Tony and the smaller man struggled to keep him from falling into the dirt. Tony could smell the blood before he could see it. It had stained the sleeve of Bucky’s right arm a slick maroon.

"Christ. You're heavy." Tony groaned. "Damn it stop fighting me! You've been shot."

"I've been worse," Bucky muttered, catching his feet finally, enough to support his own weight.  Dr. Richter was there another moment later, batting Tony's hands aside to tear away Bucky's shirtsleeve and begin poking perfunctorily at the wound.

"Ouch. Shit! Why you are putting your damn fingers in it?!" Bucky screamed at him, jerking away from the doctor’s hands with a groan and a violent hiss of pain. Richter frowned disapprovingly.

"It looks like it went straight through. But we will need to clean it and-" The doctor tried to explain in the same tone one might use for the exceptionally slow.

"No time-" Bucky interjected, pushing Richter away with his good arm. "They're gonna be after us."

"I don’t think anyone survived the blast." Lucas commented from where he was leaning against the truck, with a tired jerk of his head toward the pile of burning metal behind them.

"Jesus." Bucky muttered as he got his first good look at it, the blood training from his face. Tony hoped it was from the sight of the wreckage and not from the wound still oozing blood on his arm. Leshnerr quietly reached down to tear off a strip of the thin prison issue pants he wore beneath his monks robe and began wrapping it around the wound.

"Be still." he ordered brusquely when Bucky flinched.

"I saw plenty of grenades back in the war," the ex-soldier grunted, focusing once more on Tony, his dark brows narrowing. "But nothin with a blast like that."

"That's because up until a few days ago that one hadn't been invented." Tony replied quietly, not feeling the pride or any of the smugness he'd expected to feel in that moment. There was however a bone deep satisfaction to looking at that crater. He didn't care that somewhere in that blaze there were bodies - humans who had lost their lives. Those people weren't men to him. Not anymore.

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Maybe if we’d had weapons like that, things might have turned out differently for us in the Great War," Richter mused aloud, staring thoughtfully at Tony.

_Hughard believed you could change the world. Change the war._

"We need to keep moving," Clinton called, and Tony looked over to find him standing in the bed of the truck, collecting fallen bullet casings and stuffing them into his pockets. "They’ll send more trucks when those guys don’t answer their radio.”

“We’ll never make it to the boat.” Tony realized, frustration mounting. “Not if we’ve got gestapo dogging our every step.

"How many more of those grenades you got?” Bucky asked him.

“Just the one.” He answered grimly and Bucky nodded, his eyes narrowing speculatively on their truck.

 “I think I know a way to throw them off our scent.”

 

~*~

They made it to the river on foot, hoofing about two miles north to the place where the boat was stashed without running into further trouble. If they were lucky, whoever had been sent out after them had come across the two burning wrecks and assumed them all dead. The Avenger had been unloaded on the river bank, mostly hidden by a crop of thick trees, half in the water and the other half strategically beached and roped to a nail driven deeply into the ground to prevent her floating away.

As Bruce set about untying her, Tony began clearing away the bramble and netting Bucky had used to hide her from view, grunting with the effort. The others helped, including Bucky who stubbornly insisted on moving his arm despite several entreaties to stay back by the others. Tony worried about the wan color he’d taken on by the time they'd finished.

The Avenger was a beautiful vessel if Tony didn't say so himself.  Steel boned and constructed of his very own high strength plywood. Her cherry wood gleamed brightly in the pale winter sun, her name standing out boldly in gold script. She had two long benches in the back where six men could sit comfortably with moderate leg room, and an enclosed cockpit large enough for two to man the controls.

When she was clear, the others climbed aboard while Lucas volunteered to help Tony push her the rest of the way into the water.

The river water was chillingly cold, but Tony just gritted his teeth against the icy chill and pushed with all his might, doing his best not to slip and fall face forward into the icy flow.

"There she goes." Richter called from the deck when the last bit of resistance suddenly gave way and nearly sent Tony and Lucas toppling.  They caught each other before they could fall over and get swept away by the current.

"Grab on!" Bruce called from above, leaning over the edge of the boat along with Leshnerr and Brother Vogel to pull them both aboard.

Tony fell onto the deck, half soaked and shivering, panting for breath.

"I have to admit." Dr. Leshnerr panted somewhere above him. "This is a better outfitted rescue than I’d imagined."

"Isn’t she wicked? Tony built her." Clint informed him proudly and Tony felt several pairs of eyes land on him at once in quiet speculation.

"You're not a cardinal, are you?" Brother Albrecht asked in a somewhat hysterical tone and Tony found the adrenaline leaving his body in a rush, leaving nothing behind but bone deep exhaustion and the hysterical urge to laugh. Bruce started first, giggling lowly as a he dragged a tired hand down his face.

"No. No he's not."

~*~

 

They'd been on the water for about four hours to Tony's estimation. It was colder now than it had been walking through the fields, but maybe that was just because his robes were half soaked. Tony kept the boat steady as she traveled up the Amper towards the Isar, a mostly steady journey through quiet hills and barren German fields. It was good in some respects that they were making this journey in the early part of winter, as there were few farmers, fisherman or any of the like still wandering about to spot them. Still, those first few hours he stayed on edge, expecting to spot a patrol on one of the roads they passed. But after a while Tony began to notice himself preoccupied by other things, mainly the cold in his hands and the hunger beginning too twist through his belly.

There was a polite rap of knuckles to warn before brother Vogel ducked his head inside the door and entered the cockpit.

"We thought you might like some dinner.” He offered Tony a small crust of bread and a cut of cheese that must have come from the rations Bucky had stocked. There was a small ice box built beneath one of the seats in the back. Tony had tried hard to think of everything they'd need. It was a fourteen-hour journey to the abbey, and days beyond that to Belgium.

Thanks." he muttered accepting the offering gratefully. He winced as he pried his numb fingers away from the steering wheel. The warmth of his breath stung the chilled flesh as he raised the bread to his lips, but he ignored the discomfort in favor of filling his belly. He'd been too anxious to eat that morning and he was regretting t now.

"I heard your companions call you Stark. Is that your real name?"

The quiet question from the thin mousey haired monk took Tony by surprise. He stilled, a bite of cheese halfway to his lips, before he had enough wits to shrug an answer.

"Better you don't know that. We could still be caught."

"I doubt they'd bother taking us alive if they caught up to us." the monk replied, less fear than Tony expected in the observation. "Did you know? There were men imprisoned in there whose only crime was that they were feeble in the mind… One morning we woke up, and they were all gone. Those men who call themselves healers, they bragged how they would be taken to another facility and euthanized. I saw how little they cared for life in Dachau.”

The monk finished quietly before he quietly left the cockpit, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. The food was beginning to taste like ash in Tony's mouth but he kept eating.

The food helped to energize Tony at first but about an hour or so later the cold had seeped into his bones again, bringing with it a heavy exhaustion that begged for sleep. He found himself nodding once, then twice, jerking back to alertness at the sound of feet scuffing in the doorframe of the cockpit as Bucky ducked inside.

His injured arm had been wrapped tightly in fresh medical bandages and no blood looked to be seeping through. He probably needed stiches, but needle and thread hadn't been among their supplies.

"You look dead on your feet." Bakhuizen commented, brown eyes appraising Tony as closely as Tony was appraising him. Tony arched a wry eyebrow and snorted softly in reply.

"Are you the pot or the kettle in this situation?" he asked tiredly and Bucky's mouth twisted in a tired grimace of a smile.

"I need a sharp shot out there. My good arm is bumb so I'm better driving." Bucky wiggled his injured limb just the slightest bit for emphasis and Tony frowned, unsure if Bucky was being completely honest about that. 

"You can shoot with your left hand." Tony pointed out, daring the other man to deny it. "I've seen you."

"And you know how to handle a weapon.” Bucky returned, eyes narrowing pointedly at Tony as he leaned his weight back against the doorframe. “That day we went shooting. Why’d you pretend you didn’t like guns?”

“I don’t like guns.”

“So you just prefer bombs?” Bucky questioned, a slight jeer to his tone and Tony stiffened.

“I prefer whatever stops people from getting hurt the fastest.” He snapped. “Forgive me for not feeling all that confident that putting a rifle into the hands of Stefen’s eight-year-old son would achieve that outcome.”

Bucky didn’t offer any reply to that and silence descended once more, the hum of the boats engine just slightly louder than the slap of water against its sides as the Avenger sliced through the current.

“Stefen ordered you to take care of me, didn’t he?” Tony finally just asked, because he wasn’t naive, and he wasn’t about to put up with Bucky coddling him on Stefen’s orders – especially when he himself was injured and needed the rest far more than Tony did.

“Course he did.” Bucky replied with a grunt, making it sound like he thought Tony was stupid for asking. Maybe he was.

“Well you can tell him –” Tony began but he stopped short when Bucky made a rude hacking sound like he intended to spit on the floor.

“I aint telling Stevie shit.” The taller man’s dark eyes glinted with an odd mix of challenge and mirth as he grinned at Tony, all teeth. “I’ve known that idiot since before he could walk. First word he ever said to me was no, when I stopped him crawling too close to the campfire.”

Bucky’s smile turned just a hint nostalgic as he looked out the window, turning over an old memory. Tony found it easy to picture the two of them and their caravan, Stefen toddling about on unsteady legs with Bucky at his heels. He could see the stars the way Stefen had described them in Berlin, see the all the colors and the faces of the uncles and their families – smell dinner bubbling in the big pot over the fire. And then Bucky’s quiet voice drew him away from the fantasy, away from those boys who had no idea how time would change them.

“I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what to make of you… Doesn’t really matter though. You’re just another fire, Stark. He might need you, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to let him get burned.”

Tony frowned, grinding his teeth.

“I would never hurt him. I don’t know how to make you believe that.”

Bucky pushed away from the door and wordlessly stepped into Tony’s space, handing over his pistol even as he used his bulkier frame to edge Tony away from the steering wheel.

“Get rest.”

Tony sighed, defeated, and slowly dragged his exhausted body from the cockpit. He shivered, as the cold wind no longer buffered by the walls of the cockpit sliced through his coat.

Bruce and the others were huddled tightly together under the thin blankets Tony’d packed, forming a tight circle around a gas lamp for heat. He very much doubted he’d be getting much rest.

~*~

It was early in the morning, too early for sunrise and too late to truly be called the dead of night when Clint shook Tony awake.  At first he tensed, heart racing in anticipation of another German patrol. But darkness was still and quiet but for the low hum of the boat's engine and the excited murmur and shuffle of bodies as the brothers of Engelszell pointed out a welcoming glow glinting through the trees.

They’d made it, Tony realized as the abbey came into view. He slowly sat up, body numb with cold and still stiff and sluggish.

Engelszell abbey consisted of one rectangular building, a modest but beautifully constructed steeple a simple steeple, and a long short rectangular building at near the back where Tony knew the monks would live and study.  The whole campus sat at the bottom of the tree covered hills, bare limbed and covered lightly with freshly fallen snow, blue mountains rising above the reach of their tallest branches. It was surrounded by snow covered pasture that ran right up to the river, where a small well-worn dock had been built for the brothers to fish.

There was a single man waiting on the dock with a lantern held high. He was wrapped in a heavy winter coat, his white robes peeking out from under his coat hem and dragging in the snow.

"It's brother Simone," brother Vogel exclaimed in an excited whisper that was instantly and harshly shushed by Richter.

"We don't know. It could be a trap. We don't know if the Gestapo got here before us."

The atmosphere intensified as their vessel drew closer to the dock and the man waiting there. As Bucky slowed them down and they pulled adjacent to it, Bruce cleared his throat. Brother Simone stared back at him, widening his eyes at the discovery of the boats other occupants.

"Brother Banner?" he asked tentatively, his breath pluming in front of him. "We received a letter to expect you... it is an unusual mode of travel... It's been hours. We'd nearly given up hope."

"Yes, I'm the one who wrote you. We ran into some unexpected trouble." Bruce explained slowly, none of the men in the boat moving. Bucky's hands were poised on the boats controls. Ready at a moment’s notice to gun the engine if they should need to flee.

Tony tried to surreptitiously reach for the pistol tucked against his chest without drawing anyone's notice. He knew Clint would be doing the same.

"Oh dear... you'd better come inside then.  We've not seen the Gestapo since the arrests, but I'm sure they won't be long." Brother Simone beckoned. And Tony wasn't at all sure if they could trust it, but there was little choice and what choice there was, was immediately taken out of their hands as the brothers Vogel and Albrecht leaned over the edge of the boat to reach for an old frayed rope tied to the end of the dock in order to pull the boat close enough to exit.

Tony and the others shared a wary look. Leshnerr shrugged lightly under the blanket he had wrapped over his shoulders. Tony agreed with the wordless sentiment. If they were going to be surrounded by Gestapo there wasn't much they could do about it now.

The brothers clamored their way out of the boat onto the dock with the help of Brother Simone, finding renewed strength by the sight of him and a familiar face, crying out joyfully as they hugged their comrade and praised god for their safe return. Bruce followed them more sedately, his limbs stiff with cold but eagerness to get inside the abbey and close to a real fire energizing him. Tony hesitated before following after, turning to shrug out of the blanket Clint must have lain over him after he dozed off and resolutely throwing it over the boy's shoulders.

He looked young, standing there with his cheeks red, dwarfed by the heavy blanket and still in the robes of a novice.  It didn't help that for the first time he looked uncertain, as if he were contemplating leaping out of the boat after Tony and shouting he was just kidding about continuing toward the waiting ship.

He must realize, as Tony did that this was it. This was likely the last time they would ever see one another. Tony swallowed thickly unsure how to how to say goodbye.

"Take care of yourself." he settled for, though it felt inadequate.

"Always do, don't I? Take your own advice Tony." Clint replied with a confidant smirk returning.  Squaring his shoulders, he turned and jerked his head toward Bucky and said, "That's if this one don't shoot himself in the eye before then. Can't aim for shit."

"It was one missed shot shit head, and I was hanging out the side of a truck!" Bucky barked back.

"Uh, I think we are out staying our welcome with the good brothers. The Germans can't be far behind us." Leshnner growled irritably, obviously anxious to be on their way once more and Tony grimaced. The monks huddled on the dock were indeed looking more on the wilted end and hunched over from the cold now that the excitement of making it to their destination had passed.

Right. Tony laid a hand on Clint's shoulder and squeezed, eyes widening in surprise when the boy turned quickly and stepped into his arms, wrapping him up in a furious hug despite his bony arms.

"Bye Tony." he whispered quickly voice warbling (or so Tony thought) before he stepped back as quickly as he'd come and began barking for Bucky to stop gawking and get them moving as he scurried back aboard.

Bucky gave the young man a rude finger, but mostly ignored him in favor of meeting Tony's gaze.

"I'll get us where we need to be. You just get yourself back to Stefen and the children, yeah?”

“Only if you will.” Tony returned.

“You worry about yourself. If I have to come rescuing you after everything..." Bucky warned.

Tony huffed a tired laugh.

"I can't imagine that you'd hurry. Goodbye James."

Bucky lifted his god arm in salute and the engine turned over, the Avenger moving swiftly away from the dock.

Tony watched the Avenger as she sped down the river in the moonlight, until she and those she carried were nothing more but a distant glow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to say this was a treat for all those recovering after Infinity War, but I'm not sure it will be all that emotionally soothing. Nevertheless we hope you continue to enjoy this story and that you will R&R, even though we're terrible and don't always get to responses right away.
> 
> Until next time.


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